


Forgotten Highways

by PAW_07



Category: Cars (Movies)
Genre: Dark Past, Family Dynamics, Friendship, Light Angst, Mental Anguish, Post Cars 1, References to Depression, Supporting Original Characters, gooey feels
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-07-18
Updated: 2017-08-15
Packaged: 2018-12-03 15:16:50
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 23,791
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11534898
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/PAW_07/pseuds/PAW_07
Summary: Chick, forced to play the underdog this season, finds his plagued past returning. Soon, everything is falling apart and everyone seems to want their pound of steel. Meanwhile: Sheriff is reminded of his age, Doc is plotting, Strip is a boy scout busy body, McQueen just wants to keep his reputation intact, and somehow it's all coming back at Chick. He really can't catch a break. Post Cars 1. Friends/Family fic.





	1. It Begins

I dare say,

 On the highway,

 I cannot recall a thing.

Will things change,

For grandeur or pain,

Only Fate knows that game.

…

Fear comes in all shapes and sizes. It can come in the form of a monster in the closet, or perhaps, something more common like the thought of death with its ever-twisting grasp. Yet, there are rarer types of fears in the world. Some are so well hidden and buried so deep that the holder of these fears barely even notices that it is resting on the bottom of their soul. So, before some even realize it, they are running, racing, and shredding tires in order to try and get away from it.

That was why Chick Hicks raced. He knew he was running from a monster in his own personal mind. It was an all-consuming fear and the only way to keep it at length was to run that track so hard all he could hear were his tires beating against the pavement. He could no longer hear the whispers of his inner indiscretions. Then, maybe for a minute, he wouldn’t be reminded of his loss, his loneliness, his emptiness, and his failures. None of those things existed on the track. It was just his freedom, and he’d pull every dirty trick in the book to keep it … even pretend to be something he was not.

That was why he was currently staying towards the end of the pack, his pump jumping in his chassis. It wasn’t that he was exhausted with nearly three-hundred laps passed and gone, but because he felt sick to his tank. He was in thirteenth place. Not because it had been a particularly hard race or even challenging, but because he wanted to keep his sponsors.

_Lance - a white Dodge Viper with yellow stripes - sighed, his grill pulling down into a frown as he watched the race on the news once again. Chick merely stood at attention, not looking at the screen. He knew what was coming. He had pulled dirty tricks plenty of times before, but pulling one on the King was like a social death sentence. He’d never admit it out loud, but he hadn’t meant to push the old geezer so hard. He just wanted to slow him down so he could, for once, not be in Strip Weather’s shadow._

_The strange thing was … the one time he did manage to win, he was now nearly drowned in the King’s shadow. It was enough to make cruel thoughts cross his mind: something involving and forklift and a rather deep pit._

_Lance sighed, clicking off the television before he started, “Do you know our stock went down after that little stunt? Let’s just say some of our customers considered the move to be in … bad taste.”_

_Chick swallowed. The stock market wasn’t his forte, but it was his sponsor’s thing. So, he did the only thing he could think of: he apologized. Apologizing wasn’t in his nature, too much pride, but after that last race he knew it would be hard to get another decent sponsor if Hostile Takeover dropped him._

_“Sorry, Lance. I’ve pulled that trick dozens of times. Viewers like a little mayhem. I didn’t think that it would –”_

_Lance made a rather threatening roar with his engine, shutting the racer up. “That’s exactly it. You didn’t think. Well, its time you did some thinking, Chick. Do you want to lose your sponsor and job or do you want to follow what I say down to a ‘T’?”_

_Chick_ _bit his tongue, his pride swelling with the need to revolt. Instead, he merely nodded._

_“Good. Now, I like you Chick. I will admit you have the mind of a business man. You play dirty when you must. So, I’m going to give you a second chance in respect to that and your brother,” Chick tightened at the mention of his sibling, but said nothing, “So, here’s the deal … you will lose.”_

_A surprised noise escaped the green car before he blinked a few times and asked in disbelief, “W-what?”_

_“You heard me. This next season, and maybe even the one after that, you are to remain out of the spotlight. Give the fans time to cool down,” said Lance a grin slowly erupting on his face. “Besides, the crowd loves the underdog.”_

_The racer just stared at him, a hurt and horrified expression covering his face, a choking feeling rising in his throat._

_Lance sighed, his grin disappearing. He was not a heartless car, a bit power hungry, but not heartless. Chick was a good racer. No Lightning McQueen, by any stretch of the imagination, but he always remained in the top runnings. Slowly, Lance came from behind his desk and gave Chick a gentle nudge._

_“Come now. There comes a time when everyone has to play a part. Now is your time to act. Just pretend to be a good boy, not too much cheating, and don’t you dare get anything higher than tenth, you hear me. Just get enough points to get yourself into the top thirty-five so you can get into a fair number of races. Think of this as a short vacation, alright.”_

“And McQueen wins! Look at that. He just barely won by the tip of his tongue, literally. Sorry Junior, maybe the next race will be in your favor,” came an excited voice over the intercom. Chick physically wilted on the track, his speed dropping. Two cars quickly passed him, both giving him strange glances as they did so. He was aware of the other racers’ strange glances of late. It was as if he was dead on the track. He was sure that many of the rookies were just stocking it up to old age and that it was now their time to shine.

The older cars knew better, though. He still had a few good years left in him and he was by no means the oldest car on the track. He’d rather take the rookies’ mocking glances when they passed him over the older cars. That was why, when he entered the pits when the race over, he would move faster than he did during the whole race, giving his crew a forlorn look – which was the closest thing he could say to sorry – before rushing over to his driver, Ken. He was gone before the crowd could even stop cheering.

Today was no different. The disgrace was so deeply dug, his pride so shredded, that he actually snuck around other racer’s tents to ignore being seen. It was easy to say that part of him was wondering if it was even worth it. He knew he was getting depressed with his constant, not to mention, planned losses that he couldn’t even bring himself to talk about his job. Crank-shaft, he could barely whisper to his crew chief that there likely would be no wins this season. Marv, his crew chief, looked confused, but merely nodded asking nothing more. Ken had been harder. The semi was soft-hearted and Chick wondered if he had cried over the news. A good car, but definitely squishy around the edges. Heck, Ken couldn’t even pretend to put on a competitive attitude when confronted by other team’s drivers.

… Which was why Chick wasn’t currently half way across the state at this very moment.

“So, the next thing I know there’s this little Honda chasing after me, yellin’ I side-swiped him, and that I need to pay his body bills,” said a red semi, the Rusties’ logo on him.

Ken, a Kensworth semi with an almost identical paint job to Chick, looked at the other semis in surprise while the other trucks all laughed. “Did you?”

Mack grinned, stating, “I told him that I didn’t hit him. The little guy just continued to fight with me on the side of the road, though. Luckily, McQueen is an impatient fellow sometimes and came out. The Honda nearly had engine failure right there and said he would forget the whole thing if he could take a picture with McQueen. You should have seen it … McQueen was giving me death glares the whole time as the Honda made him take about a dozen pictures.”

The other trucks laughed, some slamming their tires against the pavement in utter amusement. Ken, his eyes still wide, the humor lost to him, asked, “But did you hit him?”

Mack’s smile faded for a minute, but he slowly moved his tire, telling the others to move in closer as if telling a secret. He wasn’t very soft-voiced though, “When I got to the next truck stop, I saw some blue paint on the trailer and scrapped it off … the Honda was blue by the way.”

All the semis pulled away, laughing themselves silly. Ken’s eyes were merely wide, but a silly grin covered his lips soon enough.

It wasn’t that Ken was slow, but people would probably say he was a bit naive. That was why Chick Hicks liked him, personally. The guy didn’t judge, he just accepted people as they were. If you weren’t his type of character he would just stray from a personal relationship. The racer still didn’t understand why the trucker liked him … or why any of his crew liked him. Perhaps, they knew something that even Chick didn’t know about himself.

Not that the speedster wanted to dwell on that. He had better things to worry about … like getting Ken’s attention.

“Ken, Ken … hey, Ken,” whispered Chick, his teeth baring themselves in an angry manner, but he dared not pull himself out of the shadow of the nearby tent. Dear Dodge, he felt as if he was hiding from his father again. Now, why did he have to bring that up? Chick rolled his eyes and hissed at Ken again. The trucker was still oblivious to his presence. Sighing, Chick decided to chance it and started to crawl out to shadows, only to squeak and jump back into his hiding spot.

Tex came into the site. All the truckers quickly nodded and said warm _hellos_ to the host of Dinoco. Chick merely cursed his luck and drove deeper into the shadows of the tent, praying that the old car was merely coming to thank all the vehicles for their hard work and diligence or something irritating good natured like that. 

“Just wanted to drop by and say thank you for a job well done. All the racers got here on time and the fans had a good time. So, during the racer’s after party, which is at five so remind your racers, there will be Dinoco on the house for you all,” said Tex with his classic warm grin which made it look like he had a double smirk with that horn upon his hood.

“Awesome.”

“Thanks, Tex, sir.”

 “That’s great.”

And a collection of other types of gratitude fell upon the audios of the older car, who merely nodded to each truck as they departed towards their own tents. Chick silently groaned though when the wise old car suddenly put out a tire, stalling Chick’s driver. Ford-Almighty! Why? Why?!

“Hello son, are you Chick Hicks driver?” said Tex, that same soft smile on his face.

Ken blinked for a second before he beamed, “Sure am! I got him here early too. First to come, first to leave, like they say.”

“I think its first to come, last to leave,” stated the older vehicle as his grin grew; Ken’s hood blushed with embarrassment. “No matter, I have a better question for you.”

Ken shook his hood and then stated meekly, “S-sure Mr. Tex.”

The soft smile he had been carrying dropped slightly as he spoke in low tones so the departing truckers wouldn’t overhear, “How is Chick doing? He’s seemed a bit down on the track, and he hasn’t been to any of the after-race parties. He used to always make an appearance. So … Is he going to make this party? I’d like to talk to him.”

The green truck seemed puzzled by the question, at least to an outside viewer. In truth, he was struggling with himself, wondering how much he should say. Chick talked in his sleep so he knew a few details that Chick hadn’t told their crew-chief about. Things like his pride. Chick was almost too embarrassed to even be seen on track or for that matter at a party.

“I-I don’t know, sir. I’ll tell him for yah though,” said Ken.

“Good. I hope to see him later. Enjoy the Dinoco,” said the older car before he turned away, heading back to his tent.

Ken just sat there a moment, his tires wilting under him slightly. He hated to get the old car’s hopes up like that. He really seemed to want to talk to Chick, but Ken knew Chick would never go … even if he tried to drag him. The truth was –

Clunk!

“Ouch!” hissed the semi as he was dragged from his thoughts, his eye squinting. H-had someone just thrown something at him? Ken couldn’t help it, his usual calm demur was drowned as an angry snarl pulled at his lips, his form turning to see who had done the deed. His anger faltered as he caught sight of a green form falling back behind a nearby tent. The semi sighed and with a hiss of his engine, he made his way over to the tent. Turning the corner, the trucker wasn’t surprised to see Chick there. He was surprised when the racer got into his face, though.

“What did he say to you? What did he want? I know it wasn’t to offer me the Dinoco deal. Spit it out,” hissed Chicks.

Ken rolled his eyes, used to the car’s recent paranoia, “Calm down Chick. He was just asking if you were going to the after-party. He asked me to make sure you got there.”

Chick’s nervousness dropped away as he sighed and shook his frame, grumbling, “Oh, that’s all. Well, I’m not going. Come on, let’s just leave already.”

The speedster turned around and started forward, only to stall when he realized a heavy engine wasn’t following after. He turned just in time to see the larger vehicle’s face before Chick groaned and nearly yelled, “No! Not the puppy pout. Aren’t you a little old for that?”

The lip just continued to wobble.

“Stop it. No. NO! I will not fall for that.”

The wobbling just continued, Ken’s green eyes getting a light sheen.

“Are you a child? Stop being so immature,” grumbled the boxcar, not in the mood for this game as he turned tail and started driving towards his trailer while still under the cover of the many tents.

The hauler shook his head and slowly followed after, lip pulling back in as he grumbled, “I’m not being immature. You are the one that’s hiding behind tents and dodging into shadows as if you are being shot at.”

“I have my reasons. Now get the trailer before someone sees – _eek_!”

Ken barely had time to think Chick’s sound over when the car suddenly hid behind his hulking form. Ken might have taken the time to be insulted if a familiar form didn’t exit from the tent they had just been creeping past.

 Doc’s eyes widened as he came out of the back of the tent, his gaze roaming to a shell-shocked semi with a surprised glint. The observant stare continued as the Hudson quickly looked around for a moment more before turning his gaze back up at the semi. A slight frown formed on the blue car’s face. He obviously had been looking for someone else.

“I’m sorry,” said the Hudson as he pulled out of the tent completely, laughter echoing into the shadows before the tarp fell back down. “Didn’t mean to surprise you … I just thought I heard someone out here I knew. I wanted to talk to him.”

Ken swallowed, his tires threatening to quake, but he somehow managed to swallow his tongue and speak, “N-no-nope. Just me. Just me all by myself … creeping behind the tents … by myself.”

The Hudson nodded, though his eyes stated he was unconvinced. He drove forward as if looking the semi over for injuries, “You’re Chick Hick’s driver, right?”

Ken was silent for a moment, weighing the pros and cons of saying yes to that question. He could say no, but a part of him just couldn’t lie. Besides, what did everyone want with Chick? During the beginning of the season nobody could care less about the race car, but now he was mister popularity. Was Chick not telling him something? Ugh, he had to make up an answer really fast though, the Hornet was all but glaring at him now.

“Um … nuh-yes. Yes, I am,” said the trucker, who almost yipped when the car hiding behind his bunk kicked him near his tire.

Doc gave him a calculating look and then stated, “Well, good. I was thinking he had left, but if you are still here then there’s no need to worry. He’s coming to the after-party I hope?”

The truck wilted on his tires. What was with that question? Did it somehow hold the answer to the universe? Chrysler. He was starting to agree with Chick. He just wanted to get out of here.

“Don’t know Mr. Hudson Hornet, sir. He’s around,” said the semi, trying to remain chipper and not snap with a negative characteristic he had picked up from Chick.

The blue car titled his hood slightly, frowning as he continued to stare at the semi in an unconvinced manner. Then, he nodded, before turning back to the tent. He stalled though, ready to open the tent and go back inside. Over his shoulder, the older car couldn’t help but state, “Not scared of little old me, are you Chick? Hiding behind your driver like that. Hope to see you at the party. My rookie has gotten a little cocky without you around to put him in his place.”

Chick merely peaked from around Ken’s grill and said nothing, his engine roaring as he sped away. The Hudson merely chuckled. Maybe Chick wasn’t as depressed as everyone had rumored him to be if he could still have a fit like that.

…

Chick’s engine roared as he came around the corner, he was barely a flash of green before he got to his trailer, the door coming down with a warm hum. He was in before the door was completely on the ground, and then it started to closed. The trailer shook, not shortly after, as the semi took a hold of the trailer.

“Let’s get going,” said Chick.

The semi’s engine rumbled, “Are you sure you don’t want to go to the party? It isn’t your birthday or something, is it? I mean everyone and their scooter is looking for you. You know some socializing might be good for you. Besides, the next race will be just as bad. Why don’t you just go and figure out what everyone else wants,” said the semi as he started to pull forward, the trailer shaking. 

Hicks merely frowned, “No. I’d rather keep what’s left of my pride. I don’t need that McQueen brat rubbing my losses in my face. And also, once we get to the next town over, you’re getting a different paint job. People keep finding me because of you.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Poor, poor, Chick. He’s just not taking this very well. Anyway, this is just a test chapter. Nothing too complicated, but it is easy to say that this is a Chick fic… Get it. It’s a pun! Now, this story will mostly focus on Chick, but a lot of other characters are getting their piece of the pie as well. XP


	2. Racetrack Rumbles

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks to my beta DocandLightning.

Sheriff yawned, sinking a little lower on his tires, enjoying the warm air and sweet shade offered by his favorite hideaway: the Radiator Springs sign. It had been a bit slow for the past few weeks. Doc and McQueen figured that business would pick up once again when it grew near the end of the racing season. For now, he was just going to enjoy the silence. Ah yes, nothing like the -

 “Hey, Sheriff!”

 The old car jumped nearly a foot off the ground before he turned just in time to see a glint of red. Lightning merely grinned at the officer, pulling up from the desert terrain around them. It was times like these that Sheriff hated himself for punishing the racer for speeding … by making him go to Sarge’s boot camp. The old Willie’s Jeep gave McQueen too many new escape routes with his off-road training … or in this instance, ambush techniques.

 “Gag nabbit, kid! Don’t go sneaking up on old cars like that. I nearly had engine failure,” said the law enforcer as his lights flashed in irritation for a moment.

 “Sorry,” snickered the dust-covered youth. “Just checking up on you and making sure your reflexes were sharp still. Can’t let the town Sherriff get rusty, after all.”

 “Oh, is that all. Well, I’m fine. Now leave,” grumbled Sheriff, knowing all too well why the rookie was here: Doc was checking up on him again. He had been on the lift about four times in the last month and Doc pretty much had everyone in town looking after him as if he were an old car with one tire in the junkyard and three flats. He was fine! Why couldn’t anyone get that?!

 Yet, as the seconds dragged off into minutes, Sheriff’s patience disappeared and he sighed. It was times like these that he wondered if it would have been best if the racer had left and never came back.

 “Tell that old harpy that I’m not coming in for a check-up until my shifts over. My repairs are fine and even if they weren’t I think I can wait the three days until he comes back from the race,” growled the enforcer.

 McQueen nodded his hood … but continued to sit there, just staring at Sherriff. It was unnerving, to say the least. Dear Dodge, the rookie would soon have Doc’s intimidating stare down pact.

 “Didn’t you hear what I just said, boy?” said the old Mercury Eight as he lifted a front tire and pointed at the youth.

 “Sure did … but Doc said I couldn’t leave without you in personal body or a promise that you were coming. Since you have, in fact, not said nor shown any want or immediate need to remove yourself from your present residence, that you have been guarding with hopeless insistence, I cannot hope to evict myself from your personal being or leave until you have readied to do otherwise,” said the smart aft, a grin coming to his lips.

 “Smart aft,” grumbled the officer. “So, I take it Doc said you couldn’t come back until you either dragged me back or made me promise to leave my post early?”

 “That would be it, Watson,” said the younger car, the grin still on his face. He’d never admit it, but there was nothing better than tractor tipping with Mater and taunting the Sheriff.

 A grumbled escaped the officer as he dug his tires a little deeper into the sandy earth. “Why can’t he just let me be? I keep telling him I’m fine.”

 “Ha,” McQueen made a disbelieving noise. “Please, this is Doc we are talking about. He never gives up on anybody. No one in town does. Heck, you guys never gave up on me. So, let’s say you’ll come in for a quick check-up around six? And then you’ll even go to the race with us tomorrow so Doc can keep an eye on you, yes? Or do I have to sit out here and sing Johnny Carr songs?”

 Sheriff was silent, a deep frown on his face as he glared at the youth. It was times like these that he wondered why everyone tried so hard to keep the kid around. He was dang right irritating. Yet, he found himself asking, “You know, McQueen, I always wanted to know … why did you stay, kid? Just to torture me?”

 McQueen’s eyes quickly met Sherriff’s and after a moment of silence, he rubbed his front bumper against the other car’s side-guard in an affectionate manner. The younger car then said to the surprised officer, “I found a family, I suppose, and after not having one for so long … how could I say goodbye?”

 Despite the gruff attitude he always tried to put forward, Sherriff Mark Carson liked the kid and hearing such a thing made his heart ooze … and a part of him wanted to cry.

 “Are you crying?” snickered McQueen as he drew closer, trying to see the older car’s windshield.

 The peace-keeper merely pulled away, hiding his face as he grumbled, “Well, don’t hang around here badgering me, boy. Get back to town and get some sleep. You have a race tomorrow.”

 Lightning merely laughed, playfully nudging the old car again, “I’ll go … just as soon as you tell me if you are going to be coming to this one? I have a feeling something interesting will be happening tomorrow and,” said the race car as he started to talk in a child-like voice, “wouldn’t the other kids think it strange if mommy always came to the races but you never did, daddy?”

 Lightning then jumped away, laughing in a mocking manner, keeping just out of reaching range from the grumpy old car.

 “Besides,” continued the hotshot. “Doc may lay off on the checkup if you promise to go.”

 Sheriff stared for a moment with wide eyes and then grumbled, knowing that the racer had him in a tight corner, “Alright you road runner, I’ll go to the dang race tomorrow. Just don’t let Doc hear you call him mum or you might never drive again. You know he hates that joke.”

“Alright, just be there. Tomorrow is going to be an awesome race,” said the youth as he drove onto the highway instead of sneaking back through the desert. Mark just shook his head as the hotshot roared his engine and spun away. He had that feeling too … but he wasn’t sure if it was the good kind. Tomorrow was probably going to be horrible. Yep, he’d bet money on it.

 …

 He could only remember the dirt when he thought of home … not that he thought of home very often. It was a taboo thing of sorts. The dirt, where Chick came from, seemed to get into cars’ hearts and not just their tires, and they never found themselves leaving. That was how Chick’s father was. He was a car of the earth, lost in its sweet decadence. His mother was that way as well. She'd just drive on the nearby gravel roads, listing to the almost rhythmic crunch of small rock beneath her tires. For a while, his older brother seemed that way too, only he liked to throw the dirt up into the air as if it were a brown cloud meant to chase after him.

 Later, Chick found out it wasn’t the dirt his older brother had loved … it was the speed.

  _“Come on Chase, you need to slide when you make that turn. Remember, most town cars don’t even know what gravel feels like and they don’t know the tricks that come with being raised on it!” cheered Manton Hicks as he yelled on the sidelines, the gravel of the dirt track crunching underneath a pair of screaming tires. Chick, still young and small, peered at his brother from a distance. He was supposed to be with his mom right now helping her milk their pet tractor, Massey, but he wanted to watch his brother race._

  _Yes, racing. It all started a few weeks earlier when they had a guest out at the farm. Chick had been so excited that he had practically danced around the older car’s form as he made his way up the long dirt driveway. Strangely, the older car wasn’t upset with him like the mail-truck always was when he did that. He, in fact, stopped halfway up the driveway and patted the small racer on the hood lightly._

  _“Are you Chase’s little brother? He speaks of you from time to time,” said the cherry red ’55 Cadillac with a soft grin, his old voice grinding but not unpleasant._

  _“Yes!” beamed the young car as he hopped on his tires, “My name's Chick, Chick Hicks! How do ya know my brother?”_

  _“Well, he now races for me. I’m his sponsor. Do you know of Carson-Cola? I’m Henry Carson,” said the stranger._

  _Chick blinked. He knew his brother raced, but what was a sponsor? Most of the races in the area were local with small prizes. He wasn’t sure what a sponsor was. “Is that a bad thing?”_

  _The older car laughed out loud, his engine coughing with the same humor, making the young car blush. Henry didn’t let Chick drive away in embarrassment though and put a tire out to stop any retreat, “Sorry lad, it’s just that everyone always seems to know my face or product. It’s kind of refreshing to run into someone who doesn’t. So, tell me, are you going to be just as fast as your brother when you get older?”_

  _Chick blinked, his young mind still not getting it, “What do you mean?”_

  _He chuckled again before stating, “A racer, son. Are you going to be a racer?”_

  _Chick wasn’t sure why he had said it, but a silly grin rose to his face, his first dream installing itself on him. “Yeah, I’m going to be just as fast as my brother.”_

  _“Good. Now keep that promise, and you’ll make your daddy and brother proud. So, do you want some cola? Your brother keeps saying it's making him fat, but he’ll be getting it free for life. It’s best not to waste it.”_

  _The child laughed but nodded as he headed down the rest of the way towards the house. The dirt seemed to try to cling to his tires but for some reason, it kept falling to the ground. No longer could it snatch him or keep him._

 “Wake up!”

 Chick’s eyes snapped open and couldn’t help but cry out as he slammed into the back of his trailer, his eyes wide and engine panting. It took him a minute to finally get some focus and he frowned as Marv, a pickup with a matching paint job which also happened to be his crew chief, grinned at him from his ramp near the back of the trailer.

 “Wh-what are you … who are … uh, Marv? Why are you in my trailer?” said Chick in a half dazed, his face full of confusion.

 Marv grinned devilishly and nudged the car with his tire in a mocking gesture. “Well, at first I thought you were merely hiding in here because you didn’t want any confrontations like at the last race, but then I noticed you were still asleep and snoring like a little angel. So, I repeatedly poked you with my antenna like you were a dead animal until you woke up. You must have been having a rather happy dream there, Chick, with how dead to the world you were. So, tell me … what model was she?”

 Chick blinked once before stating, “W-what?”

 Marv shook his head and looked back down at the rest of the crew who were all waiting patiently on the pavement outside. “Poor Chick. He’s all upset because we interrupted his happy dream. Well, don’t worry too much, Chick ... you get to look at afts all day today. After all, you sure won’t be in first. You know … you being shy this season and all.”

 Chick’s eyes got wide and if he were a few years younger he might have blushed, but he was used to Marv’s suicidal sense of humor. So, he wasn’t too surprised by the comment. That didn’t mean he was going to let the other vehicle get away with it, even if it was a nice distraction. He’d admit it. It was nice not to remember, but there was nothing like a good old death threat to chase away old wounds.

 “Why you … get over here!” snarled Chick, feeling a grin rise on his face despite the obvious insult. He would never admit it, but his crew was like his family. Heck, they were even torturous like one.

 Marv merely laughed evilly in his throat and jumped out of the back of the trailer, his truck bed bouncing at the impact. That didn’t slow the truck down though as he rushed over to the pits. The race was about to start in twenty minutes and most of the other crews already had their racers primed and ready to go. Marv only offered a slightly impish grin to the orange crew chief next to his pit, before he plowed up the ramp that was to be his view point for the rest of the race. The roar of a heavy, and not to mention irritated, engine followed after.

 Looking around the pits, Chick shook his hood knowing that Marv’s comment had been his crew chief’s idea of getting him the pit a little earlier than usual. He’d usually have his tires and engine checked in his sponsor’s tent, sparing him the look of the other racers, but it seemed he wouldn’t be getting his way today. After all, Marv – despite how immature he could be – was his crew chief and it was in his best interest to listen to him. He didn’t even spare the orange racer next to him in the pits a glance as he got into his space and popped his hood, the rest of his crew swarming around him like an ant hive. The younger orange racer looked down, blushing.

  _Rookie_ was all Chick could think as his team prepared him. One could always tell a rookie was on the track when they’d blush over such a simple thing. After all, it was a common occurrence so the orange rookie had better get used to it or get off the track. Chick would prefer off the track, but no one could ever tell with rookies since so many came and went so easily.

 “All’s good under the hood,” said one of the forklifts as he slammed the hood shut.

 “So are the tires. A little dirty though … you been racing in the dirt, Chick?” said another member of his team, Arty.

 “No,” said Chick softly as they all pulled back into their appropriate spots, “but I’ve been dreaming of it.”

 Marv gave him and funny look, putting on his headset, but before he could ask what the racer meant the intercom cried out, “Good morning racers and racing fans. It’s a lovely sixty-five degrees today. A little nippy but I’m sure our engines will all be _afire_ soon enough! Today we have –”

 The rest of the introduction was lost to Chick as he stared at the pit exit. He hadn’t thought about his childhood or his brother in a long time … he didn’t want to remember it and he didn’t have to. Not when he had the track.

 …

 Marv tried not to yawn. It had been a slow race. No, it wasn’t because Chick was in his usual tenth-ish place, but because it was still. Everyone was playing safe-driver today and little to no action was taking place. There hadn’t even been one tire blowout, which was strange. What the Dodge was going on? Was Chick’s depression contagious?

 Yes, he had noticed. Marv might have had a playful attitude, but he was no fool on any account. He saw things. It was his job after all to observe. He saw that Chick was more than acting now. He seemed distant, paranoid, tired and unhappy. Well, Chick was not the type to go around with a grin on his face, but he sure did love to laugh … usually at the expense of younger racers, but he did have a sense of humor. He hadn’t really laughed much in the past few weeks, though.

 Well, Marv had decided to use his powers of evil for good … just once. It was bad for a racer to get depressed. If a racer got too depressed he would get sloppy on the track … and if he got too messy, he might get himself and someone else killed out there. He had seen it happen before. There was a racer by the name of Slick Hemming. He was cocky, arrogant, and - he might be a guy, but he’d admit it - elegant. The guy was a Hemi and he made his chassis shine like his yellow paint was made of sunshine itself. Sadly, Slick lost his daughter, a sweet little thing, and drew away from his family thinking he could just drive off his grief. Yeah, he drove off his grief alright, right into a wall. It had been a mess. He had hit so hard that part of his engine went flying into the track like some kind of gruesome war zone, oil splattered everywhere. A few cars crashed and some of the rookies never returned, likely traumatized by the sight of someone’s innards scattered across the track.

 Chick wasn’t going to be some headline followed by a closed-hearted ceremony, though. No. Hicks would not be another thrill for fans as they watched his innards being scrapped off the track. Speaking of which … Chick was getting a little close to the wall especially when he was starting to get boxed in by the other racers.

 “Chick?” said Marv over his headset, his gaze still lazy. “You’re getting a little close to that wall, draw back and let Better Buy pass you.”

 There was silence on the other line … and Chick didn’t seem to be listening given he was still too close to the wall.

 “Come on Chick, it’s a slow race. You can get your place back, no prob. Now get away from that wall!” all but yelled Marv into his headset, the orange crew chief next to him giving him a strange look. Marv merely nodded at the other pickup and grumbled into his headset, “Oh come on, Chick. You still pissed about that joke I made before you went on the track?”

 There was silence on the other line.

 “Okay, I’m sorry.  Now get … away … from … that … wall,” growled the crew chief as he tried to ignore the worried looks from his forklifts below which were now looking up at him. This, of course, was attracting glances from the crew chiefs on either side. Chick was just trying to embarrass him, wasn’t he?

 Yet, the closer Chick drew to the wall, the more unlikely that seemed. Marv was starting to worry, memories of Slick Hemming’s death reflecting in the back of his mind. Marv tried to keep the panic out of his voice. “Chick. If this is a game, stop. Chick? Chick, are you listening!?”

  _“Listen,” said Chase as he looked down at his little brother, the light of a setting sun reflecting off the lake before them._

  _“Listen to what, brother?” said Chick as the slightly younger car looked up at his elder, Chase._

_Chase had a lazy look in his blue eyes and the black car with his red accents seemed … at peace._

  _Chick looked back out at the waters, watching his floater bob back and forth on the lake’s surface. His brother had come home, tired but happy. He was never home any more than a few days at a time. Chick missed him, even though he had all the Carson Cola he could ever hope to consume. He missed his brother. At first, he was a little glad his older brother was going to be gone since it would give him more time to be with his father. Manton Hicks didn’t give him more attention though; Chick was as invisible as he had been when he was born. Father believed the oldest son was the most important son. He was just the backup son. True, his father never said that … but Chick knew it was true. Chase carried the family name … he was just carried._

  _“Listen … they’re your fans … they are cheering for you,” said Chase, a grin on his face, his eyes half-mast and relaxed._

  _Chick blinked, a frown forming, “What do you mean?”_

  _Chase nudged his little brother, his silly grin still on his face, “I know you are upset, Chick. I wanted to sleep in before the next race, but mom wanted me to come down and talk to you.”_

  _The youth frowned, shaking his head, “I’m not mad! Okay! Why should I be?!”_

  _The elder brother sighed, putting out a tire before his sibling could run away in a huff. Chick struggled against the older sibling’s tire for a while before he finally gave in, a whine escaping him as he turned around and stared at the water. He pretended that the older and larger car wasn't there, his attention fixed on his fishing pole and the bobber in the water. He couldn’t ignore the kind tire petting down his back window and towards his trunk though._

  _“Come on, Chick. I know when something’s wrong. I’m your older brother. You can tell me anything,” said Chase as he continued to run a soothing tire down his brother’s back, trying to get some attention out of his sibling. Finally, a small sniffle escaped the younger car, and Chase pulled forward so he could see the other’s Hicks face._

  _“You sure nothing’s wrong?” said Chase, his bumper nudging Chick as if he were more a parent than a brother._

  _After a minute of silence, Chick finally choked, “Things aren’t better.”_

  _“Better? Things aren’t better how?” said Chase, a frown forming on his face. He had a feeling he knew where this was going._

  _“I thought dad would love me more, but he doesn’t!” all but screamed the young would-be-racer as he suddenly lunged to the side, his tire wrapping around his brother’s tire as he suddenly started sniffling in the black car’s side panel. “It’s like I don’t exist now that you’re gone. He doesn’t even want me here!”_

  _Chase sighed. So that was what this was about. Dad had been at his side an awful lot, but he didn’t think he stole dad from his little brother completely. Chase didn’t understand it, not one bit. Dad dragged him everywhere when he was a child, but he didn’t seem to bother with Chick. He had a feeling it had to do with dad’s own resentment to his own family that they had never met, but why would he take that out on Chick? No, there had to be another reason. Dad was probably just excited about his son’s career as a racer. Yes, that had to be it._

  _“Now, Chick. Dad doesn’t hate you. He loves you … he’s just distracted. He’ll stop checking up on my training, and he’ll be home more often. Then you’ll have more of him than you’ll need,” said Chase warmly, hugging his brother back._

  _Chick sniffled, “You sure? Dad always loved you more. I just want to race like you, but dad won’t even take me out. H-h-he said I would never be a racer! T-that it was a silly dream!”_

  _The smile fell away from Chase’s face, knowing all too well about his little brother’s new dream but not what his father had said about it. Dad had been rather supportive of him, but not Chick? Well, he’d cheer his little bro on. If it was the last thing he did, “Now don’t give up, Chick. You’ll disappoint all your fans.”_

  _“Fans?” said Chick, tears streaming down his hood as he looked up at his brother._

  _“Yeah,” said the Cutlass Oldsmobile with a soft snicker. “Can’t you hear them? They’re cheering just for you.”_

  _Chick perked up and listened to the stillness, “I only hear crickets, Chase?”_

  _“Exactly, they’re all cheering for you and even if dad isn’t at the track to cheer you on, they sure will … and so will I. And Chick,” said Chase as he watched the bobble fall beneath the water._

  _“Yeah?”_

  _“I think you’re …”_

 “… going to hit the wall! Chick! Chick! What the hell are you doing!? You’re gonna hit the wall! Chick!” cried Marv over the headset, his voice full of panic.

 Chick came out of the memory in a stupor, disorientated and unsure of where he was. It had seemed so real. He could hear the crickets nearby, felt that dry breeze, and even smelled his brother. He had forgotten that smell for the longest time. It was a musky smell of slightly melted rubber and wet dirt, but that smell wasn’t here. He smelled asphalt, spilled oil, hot engines, and melting tires. His eyes widened when he realized there was no lake or field, only hot asphalt, zooming bodies, and a closing-in wall.

 The Thunder choked, his vents catching, and the next thing he knew he was turning downward. Too bad he hadn’t looked before he leaped. He was surrounded by a pack of other race cars. Some were so close they barely had a foot on either side of them. Not that Chick had noticed this. He just knew he was going to hit that wall if he didn’t move. The Better Buy car noticed. Of course, he barely had time to yelp before he dodged a crash with Chick. Unfortunately, the Shiny Sheen car didn’t notice Better Buy’s move, and the next thing everyone knew the scream of tires echoed over the track. The sound of crunching metal followed a dry scream, and the next thing Chick knew the two cars were thrown into a wild spin.

 There wasn’t even time for the green racer to think of what he had initially caused when it came back into his face, the Shiny Sheen car forcing Better Buy back up into Chick’s front fender. A pained grunt escaped him as he ground his teeth, agony lacing up his form, but he struggled to keep some control because he knew he would go into the wall if he gave into the anguish in his body. Not that it mattered, it seemed some poor fool tried to turn and miss hitting into Shiny Sheen by speeding up thus slamming into him from behind.

 The crowd gasped, the crew chiefs all cried out, the ambulance lights shimmered into being, and the announcers went crazy.

 “Oh my, Chrysler! Bob, did you see that? Someone, I can’t tell who, just pulled a rookie mistake, and the rest of the track is paying for it. Number 45, 23, 98, 91, 86, 39, and 55 have been caught in the pileup and that pile just keeps going. No, no, McQueen! Don’t … oooooh! That had to hurt.”

 This, of course, went unheard by Chick’s audios. He had been taken by darkness when he had been slammed into by a third car, but now he was slowly coming around, everything aching. With a groan, he opened his eyes. For a minute everything was blurry, and all he could do was blink. What happened? Was he dead? A whimpering sound met his audios, and Chick struggled to look at it. It was just an orange blur at first, but then his vision started to come around, and Chick was a bit surprised to see another pair of eyes staring at him.

 “H-h-h-he, C-chick … right?” said the orange car with Demmy’s Dukes, a paint company, on his hood. Well, at least that’s what Chick thought it was supposed to say … the car was upside down.

 The green car blinked and then murmured, “Yeah … what happened? You are the car that was down in the pits next to my station, right?”

 Demmy’s Dukes grinned and stated, “Y-yah. That was me. We were in an accident. In fact, half the track was in an accident. They still haven’t gotten to us.”

 Chick blinked, his mind still fuzzy. He hurt all over, yet here he was dented and broken but still having a slightly awkward conversation with a rookie. If he wasn’t all fuzzy and in agony, the racer might have laughed. It kind of reminded him of his younger days when he would get injured and talk with the other mangled cars down by the tents after they had been dragged off the track.

 The orange car laughed nervously, his tires wiggling up into the air. He seemed fine except for a cracked windshield, a dented fender, and the fact that he was on his roof. Then, looking back at Chick he stated nervously, “This is my first crash. I-I kind of felt embarrassed at first, but as I came to a sl-sliding halt in front of you, I didn’t feel as bad. I mean, if a more experienced racer like you can get caught in this than I really shouldn’t feel too bad.”

 Yeah, an experienced racer, being caught in a rookie mistake. That was something to certainly be proud of. Despite that, Chick felt a grin raise to his face, a grin his mom used to say belonged to his brother. “Yeah, rookie. Don’t feel too bad. The really bad part comes when your crew chief starts to yell at you for being an idiot and then the repairs.”

 The orange racer laughed slightly, “I’ll remember that. By the way … my names Danny Dunes. Nice to meet you, Chick. I always heard you were a bit of a jerk and to stay away from you on the track, b-b-but you seem okay. I mean, not to say that you weren’t or that I … uh … well, I mean no offense, but I’ve heard …”

 Chick laughed dryly. He didn’t know why he did. Maybe it was because the kid had guts to come out such a thing to his face or because it was nice to know his reputation wasn’t completely dead. It was kind of crude to admit, but sometimes he knocked an extra car or two out of the race merely for his reputation. During the beginning of his career Chick had learned the hard way: if people aren’t afraid of you, they won’t respect you. His father was at least able to teach him that much.

 “Well, it’s true. Don’t go ruining my reputation,” said Chick as he tried to see if he could at least limp back to the pits only to choke on a wave of pain as he tried to move his tires. Nope, he was bent out of shape, and it was going to hurt like hell even when they started dragging him away. Ugh, he didn’t know if he should start gritting his teeth now or later. “Damn.”

 “Yeah, I don’t think you’re going to be able to limp away,” said the rookie, not even fazed by the dry comment. “I mean, from this viewpoint, it doesn’t seem like a good idea.”

 Despite himself, Chick snorted at the joke and quickly regretted it when he looked at the rookie’s grin. Little rat, he had played right into that.

 “Now really isn’t the time to be joking, is it?” said Chick, struggling to hide his grin.

 “Why not? We’re just hanging around,” said the youth, laughing.

 Chick rolled his eyes, hating the youth for making him smile, yet before he could even open his mouth there was a squeal of tires. He barely got to share a frightened look with the orange car before his hood was rained in glass … a blur of blue slamming into the rookie.

 “Almighty Ford! Bob … did you see that? The Hubcap Sheen car thought he could pull a McQueen and get through and … and … oh, the poor rookie. It doesn’t look good.”

 Chick could only continue to stare forward at the glass on his hood and a tire that bounced down into the grass. He couldn’t bring himself to look in the direction where Danny Dunes laid broken and bleeding. He couldn’t look because he knew the rookie was probably dead or dying with how fast that hit came and the amount of oil and blood dripping down the track and past his tires. He couldn’t look because he knew it was his fault. It was his entire fault … just like the last time.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> First off, yeah, I know there isn’t much happening here, but I wanted to make sure to set up some angst and lots of foreshadowing to taunt everyone. Also, thanks for all the great reviews, and thanks to Fyrehawk for helping me pick out my Henry Carson, Manton Hicks, and Chase Hicks car models. Also, I'm sorry Danny. You poor adorable rookie. I merely introduced you to maul you/maybe murder you. What I cruel authoress I am!


	3. Confrontations

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks, LightningandDoc for proofreading.

Once again, strangely, Ken found himself in a crowd of ten or eleven trucks. They were all laughing and sharing stories as if it this were any other truck stop and that they were not, in fact, on opposite teams. Generally, they wouldn’t hang out like this until the race was over and tempers had calmed, but today’s race was slow. It was _crawling to a stop_ kind of slow. Not that Ken much minded. It was probably best for Chick right now. The racer had been under a lot of stress, and a slow race would probably be good for him. No stress or worry, just the track’s cool concrete.

“Hey Mack,” said the Tire Treds truck as he nudged the red truck. “Come on. Tell us a story. Something humiliating. We love hearing how you continually get out of trouble using McQueen’s fame.”

The red semi laughed and Ken eyed the other two silently. He always wondered if it was Mack or McQueen that was really getting into trouble. Either way, someone had bad luck. Ken had even heard the story about how Mack had lost his racer last season. Talk about bad luck … or good. He hadn’t paid much attention to the rookie last season, being that rookies come and go like the weather, but McQueen seemed happy. He wished he could see Chick that happy. Maybe he should lose him by _accident_ near some hick town on a forgotten highway. Heck, it at least would save the other racer’s pride about having to lose the next race.

Then again, thinking of Chick being that happy made him frown. Did Chick even know how to be happy? The only time Chick ever seemed happy was when he was on the track or laughing at somebody else’s mistakes.

“Tell me if you guys have heard this one,” said Mack, a vicious grin on his face. “Anyway, I was tired so I pull into this truck stop in Iowa. I’ve been there dozens of times. It's small, safe, and uneventful. Or at least I thought it was. Anyway, the next thing I knew I was suddenly jarred awake as someone started knocking on my cab. I peeked open my eyes and I see this hot little ride. She was really pretty, and the first thing that came to my mind was … lot lizard.”

All the other truck’s whistled and hooted while the younger trucks all blushed. Ken was one of the blushers. This was going to be one of those types of stories, wasn’t it? It was not uncommon for stories like these to be passed between trucker buddies on cold nights to help keep them warm with some good laughs … but in the middle of a race?

“Anyway,” continued Mack, well aware of the estranged looks he was getting from the younger trucks and the few security SUV’s in the area. “I was still half asleep when I said, ‘No thanks, miss. I don’t want any company tonight.’ That was fine and dandy except for the fact that she was a cop! Yeah, it was so dark I didn’t see her paint job, but apparently, there were some robbed trailers in the area and she wanted to know if I’ve seen anything.”

Laughing echoed over the lot, mocking the trucker’s bad luck until someone was finally able to choke out a reply, “And how did you get yourself out of that, Mack?! I think she’d take offense.”

“Sure, was offended,” said Mack with a bit too much pride, “but it turns out she had a crush on McQueen. She _hinted_ she’d take no offense if she could take him out for a drink. The thing is, McQueen wasn’t even old enough to drink gas-ohol so he had milk while she hit on him.”

More laughter echoed over the expanse, some of the older trucks even choking because their poor engine couldn’t take much more of this heavy laughter. Slowly, the laughter died down and Mack turned his attention to Ken and hit him with his tire in a friendly punch.

“How 'bout you, Ken? You’ve been pulling Chick around for a while. Ever make any getaways with him? Chick takes me as the trouble making type,” said Mack. It was hard not to notice a lack of The Thunder during the after races. The last race was the exception. There had been a running joke that Chick had a gal and was running off to get him some. The racer’s grumpy and distant attitude said otherwise though.

“Well, there was this one time that I accidentally took someone else’s trailer and left Chick there. Then there was that one time I had to rescue him from this cat-lady, but the last few months have been rather quiet,” said the green semi, eyeing the other truckers. The question game wasn’t about to start was …

“So why didn’t Chick make it to the last party, anyway?” said the Dinoco semi, Gray. 

Ken sagged on his wheels. He should have known something was up just by the fact that the Dinoco truck was here. Generally, the driver would stick around his tent … and who could blame him with all those pretty little cars with the feathered hats? Figures someone would set up a trap. Why couldn’t they set up Chick personally or Marv? But no, they had to get the nice guy from the team. Well, he wasn’t about to fall for the trap. Nope. Time for a strategic retreat.

“Uh … you’ll have to ask him. Well, gotta go!”

Yet, before the truck could make a run for it, Gray grabbed him by the back of his tire and placed a canister of Dinoco before the green truck.

“Now don’t go pulling a Chick Hicks impersonation on us, you haven’t finished your oil yet,” said Gray, a grin rising on his face. Why did his boss put him up to stuff like this? He felt kind of like a rat. Well, if ChickHicks would just show up to one of the parties everyone would stop sneaking around behind the team’s back.

Ken wanted to pout. Really, he did, but he was amongst friends, and it had been weighing on his chassis for a little while now. Maybe he should confine in the older truckers. They might know a trick or two to cheering up his boss. Sighing and taking a quick sip, Ken sagged on his tires and stated in a sober tone, “None of you’ll tell your racers, will you?”

The small group of drivers all looked around at each other, some nodding, others shrugging, and soon he had everyone’s attention.

“He hasn’t been coming because I think … no, I know … he’s too ashamed to come with all his constant losses and such,” said the green semi, part of him knowing that he had just killed the warm attitude that had been in the air. Ken swallowed before he said the next words. They were kind of taboo amongst cars, but Marv hadn’t done anything to make Chick feel better. Maybe Ken could … with a little advice. “I-I think it’s made him depressed too.”

A collection of soft curses and worried words filled the small collection of truckers. Ken shrank back, now wondering if he had done the right thing. Like he said, the word was taboo especially when it was mentioned along with the name of a racer. In fact, sometimes racers were _encouraged_ by the Racing Board to take the season off if they were even hinting at signs of depression. He hadn’t just made things worse, had he?

Gray sighed as the other truckers started to talk, mention of the Racing Board coming into the conversation once or twice, before the Dinico semi butted in and stated in a soft voice, “Now, everyone calm down. Ken told us because he trusts us. Now don’t be so quick to betray that.”

The other semis all twitched on their tires, but none of them disagreed. Ken was a nice guy and put out his trust easily, but was wary to ever offer it again if he was betrayed. It was not wise to ruin friendships over something that was only a _could be_. Besides, things like these should be handled … delicately.

“Now, Ken. I hope you are not using that word lightly. Chick may just be upset with the season and is moping around because of it. All racers, especially ones that have been around for a while, feel inferior from time to time as they get older. Now, if you don’t think it’s just Chick creating drama I think you should tell your crew chief. He’ll make the proper choices,” said Gray wearily.

A soft sigh escaped the green truck as he looked around at the small support group. All of them were nodding and agreeing with the blue semi.

“Now, let’s finish our oil, boys, and enjoy the slow pace. Okay Peter, let’s hear some tales from your side of the desert.”

Ken’s grin slowly grew and the laughs continued. He had been scared for a moment. He was worried that all hell was going to break loose, but it seems he was wrong. No, today was offering him some peace and calm. Today was going to be a good -

There was suddenly a scream of tires and a resounding crunch which quickly wiped away the grins on every hauler’s face there, their eyes all falling on him it seemed. For a moment, every truck was still even though the ambulances had raced past them. They were all waiting for the same thing: the announcers.

“Oh my, Chrysler! Bob, did you see that? Someone, I can’t tell who, just pulled a rookie mistake and the rest of the track is paying for it. Number 45, 23, 98, 91, 86, 39, and 55 have been caught in the pileup and that pile just keeps going. No, no ...”

The rest of the words were lost to the green semi, the number eighty-six resonating in his head. He could merely swallow in horror … the memory of Slick Hemming coming to mind. He swallowed hard, barely noting that Mack was racing past him along with a few of the other semis. He was stuck … until Gray finally gave him a push on the back of his tire, whispering, “Come on, kid. Everything is alright, probably just a few dents. Go to your racer.”

Gray watched the rest of the group dispersed, the laughter now dead. Truthfully, he instantly worrying about Chick Hicks because he _never_ wanted to see another Slick Hemmings splattered on the racetrack. He could only hope that it hadn’t already happened. Either way, he should tell Tex immediately. He had merely promised to not tell his racer … which he technically didn’t have one of at the moment.

…

“Oww! Ouch! Oh, the pain! Make it stop! Ughhhhhhhhh!”

Sheriff and Doc looked at each other and then at the whining youth that was raised on a ramp, dents and dings all over his body. Lightning had tried to pull a game of dodge-the-huge-pile-up-that-has-to-be-taking-up-at-least-a-quarter-of-the-track and look where it got him. Doc, as his crew chief, had told him to pit, forget about it, but no … McQueen thought he could pull off an amazing stunt. An amazingly dumb stunt.

“Should we tell him you’re done with his immediate repairs?” said Sheriff, his eyes lazily looking at the youth as the racer continued to make pained noises and complain about the _agony_. Tuh, such a drama queen.

Doc sat there a moment, his backend low in a lazy manner as he seemed to think. Then, giving his companion a slightly wicked grin, he stated, “Let’s leave him for a little bit longer. Maybe it will knock something into that thick head of his.”

Despite himself, Sheriff couldn’t help but grin back at Doc. Tuh, and the Hornet wondered where McQueen had picked up his slightly sinister sense of humor. All Doc had to do was look in the mirror.

“What should we do while we wait?” said Sheriff as they started to roll to the other side of the tent, away from the wailing youth.

“See what went wrong. That’s what. I want to know why my rookie lost.”

Soon Sheriff and Doc Hudson were at the other side of the tent, watching the feed of the race that had just taken place minutes ago. It was easy to say that the pile up had been a mess and re-watching some of the gory details in slow motion would have made any other car ill. Mark was an officer and Paul Hudson was a doctor so such things were routine and part of the job requirement. They barely even batted an eye.

Stopping the tape before it got to the horrific collision with the Demmy Duke’s driver, Hudson rewound the footage and squinted his eyes as he put it in slow motion, pointing the initial crash out. “Look, there it is, right by the Shiny Sheen car. That seems to be the start of it. It looks like the Better Buy started it, but why did … did he just dodged Chick Hicks?”

Sheriff drew back and huffed, “That scallywag! He knew he was going to lose the race and decided to pull a cheap move so he could get ahead.”

The Hudson Hornet gave him a skeptical look and rewound the tape again, pausing it. It didn’t look like a preemptive move. It was more like a jerked reaction and for some reason … the accident was reminding him of a rumor he had heard earlier. He couldn’t help but voice it aloud, “You know that rumor that’s been going around, about Chick?”

“That he has a hot ride waiting for him at home and thus he is gone faster than the wind after every race?” said Sheriff, a grin rising to his face as he thought about how hot the pretty car had to be to get Chick to move that fast.

Doc gave him a bored expression and then deadpanned, “No … the one that he might be depressed.”

Sheriff’s lazy grin turned to a sober expression. It wasn’t a rumor he had heard, but it was not only a taboo subject to racers but one to officers alike. Depressed drivers were dangerous drivers. In fact, some might say depressed drivers were twice as unpredictable as drunk drivers because you could at least smell the gas-ohol on a drinker’s breath. Mark twitched on his tires and then bluntly replied, “Is it true?”

“I don’t know. It's barely even a rumor, but then again that’s why it’s called a rumor,” said Doc, watching the gritty recording and how Chick's eyes suddenly widened before he swerved. It was as if he didn’t see the wall in front of him.

Humming to himself in thought, Doc pointed it out to Sheriff. “But look at the jerk reaction and how his eyes widened. It’s like he didn’t notice that he was getting close to the wall. In fact, he might have crashed and messed himself up if he hadn’t swerved.”

There was silence in the room, the two older beings dwelling on the subject at hand. Sheriff even watched the feed once more as if confirming Doc’s theory only to suddenly perked up on his tires. Doc looked over at him, wondering why the officer was suddenly checking his mirrors.

“Something wrong, Mark?” said Doc, his worry switching from the car in question to his town’s cop. He had managed to convince his rookie into getting Sheriff to come to the race today because, in truth, he was worried about his old friend. The peacekeeper wasn’t as young as he used to be and Carson was terrible when it came to asking for help with anything health related. The trouble was, with the increase of traffic in Radiator Springs, more stress was being put on the aging enforcer. In truth, with the increase in visitors, they now had the money to hire a full-time deputy but even with the small hints to hire help, Mark wouldn’t budge. He would merely get upset, thinking the town’s people wanted to replace him. Doc would never do that to Mark, but with the way the officer was treating his body … Doc might just be forced to do the very thing Mark was so afraid of.

“You notice anything strange, Doc?” said police officer suddenly.

“No,” said Doc, blinking, his thoughts interrupted.

“Exactly … where is the whining?”

Doc’s face grew into a frown. “He heard us, didn’t he?”

Sheriff didn’t answer, the two older vehicles merely turning around and heading to the back of the tent to see … Lightning trying to sneak out of the tent. Doc merely shook his hood and was about to make a comment about an early radiator flush if the racer didn’t get back onto that ramp right now, but Mark beat him to the punch.

“And where do you think you’re going, road hazard. Last time I checked, you were in _agony_ and Doc hasn’t given you the okay to leave yet,” said the Sheriff, not really in the mood for any of the kid’s games.

Lightning did a hop kind of turn, a guilty grin now bared to the two older cars. The two cars in question exchanged curious looks to each other and then they both gave the youth a bored but demanding look. The youth shook his hood, a soft laugh on his lips. “Yah got me, Sheriff. I’m up to no good.”

“Now I don’t need no trouble from you today, boy. Better spill what you’re up too or I’ll have you in a boot so fast your mother will feel it,” said the officer, his form stiffening for a minute.

Lightning tried to look as innocent as possible. Then, driving backward and slowly out of the tent, he spoke, “Oh nothing much. I’ll probably pose for some of the cameras and show off my war wounds. I’ll talk to Strip Weathers a little and maybe mock Chick on his developing age and the senile properties that come with it … like the inability to drive. Ha. Ha. The Thunder is finally growing silent and soon there will be nothing but lightning in the sky! Oh, yeah!”

The younger car was then zipping away, leaving the two older models slightly flabbergasted and gaping. Pulling their mouths closed, the two old companions shook their hoods until Doc finally spoke, “We really got to do something about that kid’s mean streak.”

Sheriff chuckled, “I agree there, Doc. Come on, maybe we can catch him somewhere between flirting with his fans and talking to Strip, but let's drive slowly … I still want to see Chick’s face.”

Doc hit the officer with his tire, a grin on his face, “Now Sheriff, I think Lightning’s mean streak might be contagious.”

…

Chick slowly opened his eyes disorientated slightly from the painkillers he had been given. There was a stillness in the tent. The only sounds reaching his audios was the flapping of the tent against a faint breeze and the constant drip of oil into a pan below him. There was also the squeak of small tires as the forklifts drove around his form, mumbling to each other about parts and the extent of Chick’s injuries. Chick paid it no mind. He just couldn’t stop playing Danny Dukes last expression over and over again in his mind.

He honestly wanted to ask what had happened to the rookie, but for some reason, he couldn’t find it in himself to even speak. It was as if his jaw had been locked shut. He hadn’t felt like this in a long time, so ashamed that he was unable to speak. In fact, he hadn’t felt this way since he had last spoken to his father. Chick quickly closed his eyes, willing away those dark thoughts. He didn’t need to think about that right now … he didn’t really want to remember right now.

Not that Marv was going to leave him to the peace he so desperately craved. It seemed that the crew chief had just been waiting there in the corner of the tent fuming, waiting for the forklifts to finish up all the major patch work. Then, like a hungry beast, the pickup leaped from the shadows and attacked.

“What the pit were you thinking?” came the angry dragging words as Marv settled in Chick’s line of sight, his gaze arctic and demanding.

Chick merely remained silent, knowing there was nothing he could say. These were his private demons and not someone else’s worries. Besides, he didn’t know what to say. The ‘D’ word kept popping up in his head, but he was nowhere near that desperate.

“Nothing to say, huh? Just what in the name of Chevy was going on out there? Did you decide to take a nap while driving? I’m going to take you out for the next two races if you don’t tell me what was going through your head, Chick. Tell me now,” growled Marv, his usual cool composure lost to a sneer and rage. Even the forklifts all scattered when Marv slammed a tire down, nearly popping his own tire from the force.

Chick’s eyes wandered. He wanted to snap back a witty retort like usual, but he felt so tired and defeated. He didn’t know what else to say but the truth. “I was thinking … about the dirt.”

Marv was silent for a second before a growl escaped him. “What the Ford are you talking about? Dirt?! Did you hit your roof too hard? What the Chrysler is going on with you, Chick? You nearly killed yourself today, not to mention about a third of the other racers. I need to know if I can trust you on the racetrack anymore. Hicks, you might kill someone … or yourself.”

A whine caught in the green racer’s engine. He was not suicidal! He was just lost at the moment, his mind unable to calm itself. He had no intent, never did, to kill anyone. Yet, as he recalled the orange Demmy Duke’s racer, a pathetic almost whining sound escaped him. Then, before Chick could stop himself, he whispered, “I don’t know what happened. Alright. It was a slow race and my mind wandered … to some unpleasant memories. I wasn’t trying to kill anyone. Is-is he alive?”

Marv, slightly taken back by the desperation and near panic in Chick’s voice, frowned. It wasn’t like the proud racer to open up so easily … or so desperately. Moving forward a little bit, a still slightly confused look on his face, Marv asked in a kinder voice, “Now don’t go blowing a gasket, Chick. Who are you talking about? We are _supposed_ to be talking about you. Not other cars.”

“I need to know … if that Danny Dune’s kid died. I-I would be responsible for that accident.”

Marv was silent, seeing an emotion in Chick’s eyes he hadn’t seen in years. It was a look he never thought he’d see again.

_It had been an average day, the off season, and Chick was moving. Marv had somehow gotten suckered into helping him move. Well, maybe it wasn’t suckered … it was more like blackmailed. After winning a big race, Chick took his crew out and got plastered. The next morning, Marv was woken up by a wet feeling, something licking his driver’s side mirror. At first, he thought he must have gotten lucky last night and his lady love was showing some early morning attention. Then, he heard the telltale click of a camera. He opened his eyes to see that he was in the middle of a field, a tractor licking his side mirror and a rather mocking grin on Chick’s face._

_“Wow, you really got to pick up some standards Marv but at least she matches your paint job.”_

_Once he gave up chasing the racecar around the field, Marv found out that he had somehow ended up in the field after one too many drinks, cuddling up to a tractor for some nightly warmth. At least that’s what he hoped had happened. Either way, he’d rather help Chick move all his junk then have the racer show the picture to all the crew members. So, when carrying out some boxes to the trailer he would be pulling, Marv dropped a box, pictures scattering everywhere and floating down to the ground like feathers._

_Groaning with aggravation, Marv had started to pick up the pictures when he noticed an envelope that was still sealed. Feeling his curiosity peak, part of him wondering if maybe it was the photograph of him and the tractor, Marv opened the closed package._

_It was an older picture, he could tell by the rather faded look of the colors. They were not vibrant like present photographs. The strange thing was … for such an old photograph, why wasn’t it in worse wear? How long had it been in that envelope? Either way, what really drew him to the photo were the cars in it. He could see Chick, a very young Chick, and four other vehicles. He recognized one of them right away: Henry Carson who was the owner of Carson Colas. Then there was a red and black Cutlass race car, an older Pontiac Firebird, and a homely Chevy van. It was a curious group, but what struck him the most was the racer. Now that was a grin he knew and rarely saw … in Chick._

_Was this Chick’s family? Marv had to ask, hoping to find out if this was where the inspiration came from. He made the mistake to ask who the red and black racer was._

_Marv had never received an answer. All he got was that hurt, desperate look before Chick ripped the photograph away and disappeared for a few hours._

That look, back then, was so much like the one Chick Hicks held now. The crew chief couldn’t find it in himself to push the green racer and stated in defeat, “I don’t know. I didn’t get to look at him … but there was a lot of oil.”

The tent was quiet, the two old friends not sure as to what to say to each other, but suddenly Chick started to roll down the ramp, a grunt of pain coming from him as his tires hit the cement below.

“Woh, woh, woh! Chick, get back on the ramp. We fixed all the major injuries, but you were still messed up enough that we want to take you to a doctor, especially for that rear axel of yours. Now get back on the Ford forsaken ramp before I call Ken in here. I’ll do it. I’ll make him restrain your tiny chassis too.”

Chick ignored the threat and continued forward, limping with the weakened axel. He had to know. Chick knew he wasn’t a saint, long ways from it, but he wasn’t a monster. He did not want to be responsible for _another_ death. His heart couldn’t take it because then it would mean his father had been right about him … that everyone was right about him. He only existed to hurt people. He was a failure and that would be the only thing he would ever be good at.

“Don’t dare go out that flap. I’ll have the forklifts take off your wheels! Chick,” growled the crew chief as he cut the racer off before he could exit the tent.

“Move, Marv. I need this right now. Then you can badger me the whole way to the hospital, but I need this,” said Chick with a hint of desperation.

The green pickup remained there a moment more, his hard glare slowly fading until he gave in. Opening the tent for Chick, he gave the car a stern look while stating, “Fine, we’ll go over and talk to the rookie’s crew chief, but you are to go easy on that axel. And also, for the love of Ford, don’t go spilling your guts out about how the crash was your fault because everyone is, so far, blaming it on the Better Buy driver.”

“Yeah, Chick. That’s so unlike you … letting someone else take the rap for the accident. I thought you took pride in those sorts of things,” came a voice across the way, Chicks and Marv’s eyes going wide as none other than Lightning McQueen parked before them, a rather snide looking expression on his face. “Well, am I right, Chick?”

A growl came from Chick’s engine and he stated in a stale tone, “That was a nice finale you pulled off there, McQueen. What, trying to go out in a blaze of glory like your crew chief’s career did? Dents are a good look on you.”

The grin quickly disappeared from McQueen’s face, his eyes becoming a glare. “Don’t you dare insult Doc. He’s twice the racer you’ll ever be! Besides, at least he’s not some kind of _failure_ that has to cheat to get ahead in life.”

And there was that word. A word his father had used far too often. A word that seemed to follow him wherever he went and how Chick loathed that word: _failure_. Something snapped … that something that he had never quite crossed when it came to the taunts of other drivers. His anger usually revealed itself in words and petty insults. Now was not the time for words. He wanted action and to punch Lightning’s face in. The only warning Lightning got was the roar of Chick's engine … and then he was slammed into.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for taking forever. I was nursing this chapter. Oh Chick, you need hugs … not pit fights. I don’t think McQueen in the hugging type though. XD


	4. Battle Bruisers

Lightning hadn’t seen it coming or expected it, really, when Chick slammed into his side making him yelp and slide forward from the impact. For a minute, Lightning was stunned, part of him unsure what had just happened despite the ache now in his side. He had never gotten into a bumper fight, a bar fight, or anything of the nature before. True, he had been in many accidents, but never had he been directly hit on purpose outside of a racetrack … or while in park for that matter. He wasn’t sure how to respond at first … until Chick pulled away, metal screaming as he separated from his indent now in Lightning’s passenger side, ready to ram the red racer again.

“Holy pit!” cried McQueen as he slammed himself into a reverse, sliding into a half circle so he was now facing a very enraged looking Chick. “What the Chrysler is wrong with you?! Y-you dented me! Oh, you are so paying for a new paint job.”

A growl escaped Chick, his back axel raising him up to make the green racer look larger. “I’ll be taking no more of your exhaust, rookie! I’m going to put you in your place!”

Lightning yelp as he tried to dodge the attacker’s forward lunge, Chick catching the younger car by the tip of his rear end and sending him into a spin. Lightning quickly dodged the next move though, his eyes wide and his cockiness mostly gone. This was serious.

Marv watched the crimson rookie barely dodge his racer’s next attack, his face becoming one of engrossed horror. This was not what they needed right now! They couldn’t afford bad press nor have Chick rip himself up any more than he already was. That axel could snap if Lightning was as good of a fighter as he was a racer. Suddenly, roaring his engine, Marv yelled, “Chick! Drop it! Come back into the tent before you do something you’ll regret!”

“Stay out of this, Marv! This is between me and the brat!” barked Chick as he charged forward, Lightning jumping out of the way. Tire marks formed on the cement below as the elder car slid to a halt.

“Brat! I’m not a brat. What is this, the fourth grade?” gripped Lightning, his engine roaring. He was the next one to charge forward, the sound of metal screaming out to the gathering crowd of awed teams and staff. Soon, with each insult between the racers, a new car came to watch. It didn’t take long for the rest of Chick’s crew to come and observe followed shortly by a stunned looking Fillmore, Sarge, and Mater who had been volunteered to help find Lightning by Doc. The retired racer had told them to find the kid before he did something stupid. Well, they found him alright, but they couldn’t promise that he hadn’t done something stupid.

Sarge watched the two cars clashed and shook his hood. Lightning may be faster than Chick but Chick was the powerhouse in this fight because when Chick hit, he caused real damage. “Dumb rookie, gone and got himself into more trouble than he can handle. Doesn’t know the first thing about throwing a punch. I need to whip that soldier into shape when we are done here.”

Mater, on the other hand, merely started to cheer Lightning on as if this was some kind of wrestling match until Sarge hit him on the side, barking, “What are yah doing, Mater?! We don’t stand on the sidelines like cheerleaders. A platoon never leaves one of their own behind. Now, let’s get that red fool before he gets his behind ripped off and handed to him.”

The tow truck put on a confused face, his eyes squinting for a moment before he jumped in surprise. “Yah really think Chick can rip off Lightnin’s bumper and give it to ‘em. I dunno Sarge … he’d have to be real strong for tha … like the Hulk!”

Sarge gave Mater a look.

Mater merely returned a thoughtful expression until his face was slowly overcome by horror. His tires started to shake and, getting low to the ground as he stared at Chick, Mater whispered, “I just realized somehin, Sarge.”

“What’s that, Mater?” said the veteran as he eyed the battle before him. He would like nothing more than to plow into that skirmish and beat the scrap out of the both of them for being so irresponsible, but that probably wasn’t the best course of action … it sure would be the most fun though. It would teach those two civilians a thing or two. It certainly would.

Mater’s eyes shifted as if paranoid, the tow truck whispering, “Chick … he’s the Hulk. Right color and everythin.”

The jeep stalled for a moment before he immediately threw Fillmore a dirty look, grumbling, “You’ve been giving him weird things again, haven’t you hippie?”

“What, no way man. I learned after the first time … there was a first time … wasn’t there … yah …”     

Mater wasn’t paying attention to the bickering going on behind him though as he crawled forward, worry painted all over his face. He observed Chick for a moment. The green racer was mad and soon enough, as was the nature of the Hulk, he’d get mad enough to transform into his Monster Truck form and hand all their afts to them. No, he had to warn his best friend.

“Lightnin’! Don’t make hem mad! He’z the Hulk! He’ll hand your aft to you! Lightnin!” cried Mater, drawing closer and closer to the battle because he could tell the red racer couldn’t hear his desperate pleas over Chick’s roaring engine.

Marv, who was wondering if Taz - one of the forklifts - still had the blowgun around, was trying to decide the best course of action in order to stall this bad-press rumble. The blowgun might work, but Taz was always one for tall tales so that might not even be an option. Perhaps he should just go get Security and have them break it up. There was the Press problem though. Where ever Security went, Press would surely follow. Maybe he could have the forklifts take off McQueen and Chick’s tires. Yeah, that would … what was that tow truck doing? He was getting rather close to the brawl, but neither one was out for the count yet. What was … wait … that was one of McQueen’s crew. Chrysler! They were going to gang up on Chick!

“Oh no you don’t, rust bucket!” growled Marv as he rushed forward to cut off Mater, his back end swinging from his sudden stop. The tow truck merely stared at first, surprised by the interruption, but he didn’t back down. He needed to help his best friend. Chick might turn into the Hulk, after all!

“Move, wouldja, please. I need to stop Chick,” said Mater.

“I don’t think so … back off!”

Meanwhile, Sarge was getting sick of the hippie’s slurred reassurance that he hadn’t given Mater anything recently (meaning that there was probably another time in which he had) and that this situation should be solved over a cool canister of motor fuel. Tuh. He never got why the hippie thought that way. Had motor oil ever solved a war? No, it had not. Strength and determination did.

“Listen, Fillmore, I don’t have time to listen to your flower-child talk. We need to get Lightning out of that brawl before Doc finds out and gives us all early radiator flushes as punishments,” said the jeep as he tried not to twitch. Chrysler, Doc could be one mean physician if you got on his wrong side. It also didn’t help that he had tires like a yeti either. He needed a space heater or something. Not that Sarge was going to bring it up. Maybe after saving the kid’s bumper, he could convince Lightning to tell Doc that his tires were fricken cold, but he sure wasn’t going to do it. One doesn’t mock the medic and gets away with it easily.

Fillmore stared at the Willie jeep for a moment, mouth a-gapped as if confused. Then, squinting his eyes, he couldn’t help but ask, “Do we have to help Mater too …”

“What do you mean … ugh,” the jeep gave an exuberant sigh and sagged on his tires slightly as he looked in the direction Fillmore was squinting. Great, just what they needed, to add another member of their team to the fight which was Mater no less. The tow truck was a terrible fighter, his only positive attribute being his tow cable. Well, it looked like the green truck was merely growling at the rusty fool right now so maybe he could break this up and be to the tent with Lightning before Doc can say: _get on the lift_.

Moving forward with a rather sour expression, the jeep all but roared, “Mater, what are you doing?”

“Try’in to get passed,” said Mater as he did a side jump to try and sneak around, the green truck quickly jumping as well to block the tow truck’s forward movement. “He won’t let me.”

Marv tried not to twitch as the jeep drew to a halt in front of him. Now he was getting a little nervous about playing Nose-Guard for Chick. He now had this tow truck and a probably very experienced Army jeep trying to get past him. Well, he wasn’t about to give his driver to the wolves. He’d start throwing punches if he had too.

“Back off, old car! This has nothing to do with you,” growled Marv, rising on his tires.

Sarge’s eyes got wide. No, he just hadn’t said that, had he? Well, that young cadet needed to be shown some respect for his veterans! Rushing forward, Sarge grabbed the green truck by one of his tires, twisting it slightly so that the crew chief cried out in pain and was successfully incapacitated at the same time. It was an old trick he had learned in training. If one grabbed and twisted the tire just right it wouldn’t pop, but it sure would leave the captive mewling for release and willing to do anything Sarge said for it.

“Listen here, you yellow-bellied cretin. I fought a war for your bumper and I deserve some more respect than that. I dodged bullets for you, kid. I attained several wounds! Didn’t your momma ever teach you anything?”

Marv could only whimper and blink back tears as he tried to remain as still as possible, hoping not to entice the ache in his twisted tire by moving. Of course, the green forklifts didn’t hear what exactly Sarge was talking about. They only saw an Army jeep get close to their crew chief, grab him and make him yip in pain. They all gave each other steely gazes before nodding. Oh, it was so on now.

So the rumble between two racers quickly turned into an outright brawl between teams. Sarge was quickly surprise-attacked by the green forklifts, causing him to release the green truck and was now, presently, growling at the green munchkins that were circling him like hungry buzzards. Mater, on the other tire, was now trying to use his tow cable as a lasso while Marv tried to knock him a good one. Meanwhile, Lightning was still trying to get a good ram in towards Chick’s bad axel, which he had just noticed moments ago when he gave a hit close to that racing wound. Fillmore, usually fuzzy minded and peaceful, was now downright distraught because this reminded him of his days at the protest rallies.

Driving forward towards Sarge and his little surrounding caravan, Fillmore spoke, “Hey, little forklift guys. Can’t we discuss this in a peaceful manner over a cool drink of organic fuel?”

The six green forklifts stalled and gave the VW van confused looks like they were trying to decipher what Fillmore had just said. Sarge took this as an opportunity. It was like any other battle as far as he was concerned and Fillmore had just played the part of live bait. Suddenly lashing forward with one of his tires, the military jeep grabbed one of the larger forklifts who cried out ‘ _he’s got me’_ before the veteran hit him in the back of the roof, successfully knocking the little bugger out.

The five remaining forklifts all looked stunned for a moment before one of them cried out, “The jeep got Larry! The van was a distraction. Get them!”

Sarge growled as three of the forklifts went back to circling him, trying to get him tipped over but failing due to the old timer’s fast reflexes. Fillmore, on the other tire, could only stand there as the two remaining green beans went after him. He could barely protest until the next thing he knew … he was missing all four of his tires. Said tires were then rolled forward and thrown at Sarge.

The jeep didn’t see what was coming until all the green beans suddenly drew back, a tire hitting the retired soldier with a dull thud.

“Ouch, owh, why you little … owh!” growled Sarge as every tire that followed after seemed to hit him right in the windshield or hood. Soon, the forklifts were out of ammo and the Willie’s jeep was now low on his axles, growling like a monster truck.

The five little forklifts swallowed, looking at each other before one of them cried, “Scatter!”

Elsewhere, the two trucks were still playing a deranged game of cowboy. Mater was playing the part of the cowboy and Marv was the part of the raging bull. Snorting and getting low on his tires, Marv lashed forward trying to send the tow truck into a spin and into the surrounding crowd. The tow truck, surprisingly, dodged while crying ‘ _o-lay’_ as his tow cable came around and snagged Marv by his back bumper. The green truck could only yip out in surprise before he found himself being dragged forward, crying out as he tried to get a grip on something.

All Marv could think was one thing as he started to get dizzy: _they so didn’t need this kind of press right now! They so didn’t!_

…

Grey was silent as he sat near the outside of the Dinoco tent, contemplating his words carefully. He didn’t want to blurt out what Ken had told him since it was completely speculated and contained no facts. He neither would remain silent so he had to word the coming conversations carefully. He had been in the pits a long time, seen happy endings and not so happy endings. He’d rather see a career end in retirement than a crunch of metal any day. He had never talked to Chick personally, and Grey would admit the green racer really pissed him off with that petty attack at the King’s last race, but even Hicks didn’t deserve to die on the track. Chick should get to retire like Strip Weathers, enjoy his older years, age with a lady love, and die in his bed. So was the recipe for a good life as far as Grey was concerned.  

Pulling in a large amount of air in, Grey pulled forward into the shadow encased innards of the tent. He was immediately greeted by one of the showgirls, her feathers fluttering due to a soft breeze out the door. Grey grinned at her and headed inward. Generally, he’d talk with the girls whenever he got the chance … what could he say? He was a sucker for a pretty femme and his mamma had taught him well on how to treat a lady.

It didn’t take him long to sight Tex who was talking to the King. For a moment, Grey was still. He had promised not to tell his racer, but the King would want to listen in nonetheless. Yet, since Strip Weather was no longer an active racer, did that mean he could tell Strip? The semi shook his hood. He was not in the mood to create a paradox. Besides, Tex had just seen him and had a warm grin on his face. The hauler knew that soon he would wipe away that warm expression with his words and did not feel in the least bit happy about it.

He quickly rolled forward, his air breaks huffing as he came to a halt. He put on a soft smile. “I’m back, Tex. Thanks for the Dinoco drinks. The guys really liked them.”

The blue hauler then turned to the matching racer noting that he now missed most of his stickers.

“Hey Strip. I almost didn’t recognize you. Plus, I haven’t seen you in a few days so I thought you up and died on us. Oh wait, there’s another word for that … retirement,” said Grey in a playful manner, glad to see that Strip had decided to show up for this race. He was always a calming presence.

The vehicle merely chuckled, putting on one of his award winning grins before stating, “Tex why do you still have this lazy semi on your payroll? He’s not doing anything except hitting on the pretty girls.”

Tex chuckled at the light mocking tones. It was nice to hear the banter between the racer and his driver. He sat patiently for a moment as the two finished their conversation. Soon, Strip and Grey had finished and Tex spoke, worrying that he had wasted his hauler’s time today. “I’m sure you know about the accident already, correct? I’m glad you talked to Chick’s driver for me about the after party, but it seems unlikely that Chick is going to be doing anything but whimpering in pain tonight.”

“Yeah … about that boss … I didn’t ask Ken about the party,” said Grey, wilting on his tires slightly.

Tex blinked in surprise. Now that was very unlike Grey. All his crew usually came through for him especially something as minuscule as gathering information on cars’ soon to be whereabouts. So there had to be a reason as to why. “Didn’t you ask him? Did the accident occur before you could ask or did you upset the poor lad? He seemed very soft natured the first time I spoke with him. I didn’t have the heart to pry more than I did the other day.”

“No,” said Grey, guilt already starting to grip at his engine. “I was working my way to asking him, gave the guys all some cool drinks, told some jokes. You know, calmed him down. I almost lost him, actually, but then …”

Grey was silent, noting how both Strip Weathers and Tex were eyeing him. They were both listening to every word, curiosity peaked. Sighing, he decided that sounding like a paranoid lawyer wasn’t the way to about this. It was too distant. He had to make this slightly personal. After all, he was Ken’s friend.

“I’m going to be forward with you. Ken told me what he thought was wrong with Chick this season and why he wasn’t coming to the after parties. None of the trucks there were very comfortable afterward, but we gave him our word we wouldn’t tell our racers,” the blue car gave him a worried look at that, but a soft nod from Tex made Grey continue, “Ken is worried that Chick has become depressed.”

The usual warm expressions on the two elder cars’ faces disappeared quickly. Tex took on a worried look and Strip gained a pitying frown. Slowly crawling forwards on his tires, the King gave the semi a gentle tap on the side, stating in a soft voice, “Are you sure? That can ruin a racer’s career saying something like that lightly. You know how the racing committee has been since Hemming.”

Grey sighed, “Like I said … Ken suspects it but he wasn’t sure. It’s purely speculative.”

Strip Weathers continued to hold the gaze with the hauler before he shook his hood. “I have been watching the races, and now that you say it … Chick has been exhibiting strange behavior. The Chick I knew would never settle for anything under fifth place. He’d be pulling tricks like a magician on that track. I thought he was just trying to stay out of the lime light due to the bad press after …” Strip was silent for a second; true, he was still slightly bitter about how he lost at the last race but then he’d recalled Lightning’s sacrifice and small part of him felt that perhaps it was worth it, “…my last race.”

Tex shook his hood and Grey frowned. That was a sore subject for everyone on team Dinico but the King was always proud to admit that he had left a good racer in his stead: Lightning McQueen. Tex was bound and determined to get ahold of that boy if it was the last thing he did.

“Ah … yes, a bad move by Chick,” said Tex, a sigh escaping the elder car, “but I believe you are correct Strip, and if there is proof of Ken’s worries … we should do something about it.”

Grey tilted on his tires a little bit. “Are we going to go to the Racing Board? I’d hate to betray Ken’s trust, but if you both believe it to be the best, I will be fine with that.”

The two cars looked at each other and the King rolled backward, thinking for a moment. Then, with a smooth turn of his wheels, he headed for the tent’s exit. “I think we should talk this to his crew chief … and Chick, personally. We shouldn’t create trouble where there isn’t any.”

Tex chuckled, glad to have Strip’s cool thinking around for such a sensitive subject. “I’ll be leaving Chick to you then. Thank you very much. He always did get behind you anyway.”

Soft chuckling filled the tent for a moment, recollection of Chick’s runner-up years coming to mind.

“Well, we might as well get going before his crew chief grows bored of yelling at him and Chick is in good enough condition to limp back home,” said Strip, Tex laughing deep in his engine. “Grey, would you do me the favor of telling Lynda I will be back in a little bit.”

Yet, just as the three vehicles started for the entrance of the tent, one of the show girls raced inside, excitement in her voice as she cried, “Hey gents! Turn on the telly! It seems like that Chick Hicks fellow and Lightning McQueen are having an unfriendly spat! Oooh, this is going to be good, ‘specially since it looks like Chick’s band is getting rowdy. Hurry!”

There were a collection of surprised expressions passed around by the three older vehicles.

The show girl merely shook her head, “Bunch of opened mouthed blokes. Does the lady have to do everything?”

She flicked on the screen, her excitement rather evident. The older team members could only watch as the camera angle jiggled trying to get around the gathering crowd, but a flash of green and red soon came into view, metal cracking as McQueen got in a good hit.

Tex looked at the other two. “Well, I guess I was wrong about Chick doing nothing tonight but whimpering in pain. He’s probably getting arrested.”

…

Doc and Sheriff, who had started the search not even ten minutes ago, had gone to Strip Weather’s tent first. They had both been expecting a warm welcome from the blue car, but all they got was a worried look followed by an introduction to a rather large plasma screen. The Hudson Hornet had been stupefied for a moment at what he saw until Tex nudged him, stating in a way only the knowledgeable car could, “I think you better go get that boy of yours before he digs himself a pit he can’t drive out of.”

That was why Sheriff and Doc were now sitting on the outskirts of a crowd of onlookers, both carrying sour expressions. Both cringed when a loud crack filled the area along with a pained scream from Chick. Sinking low on his tires, Doc stated, “I’m going to kill him. Picking a fight with Chick Hicks? I thought he was smarter than that.”

“The young are always stupid, Doc,” said Sheriff, frowning, his cherries just twitching with the want to turn on with every yelp and crashing noise that came from the inner workings of the brawl. Finally, a rather loud cry escaping Lightning made his lights flash and Mark rose on his tires, ready to perform his public duty.

“Sheriff, I think we should wait for security. This is their jurisdiction after all,” said the Paul as he carried a worried expression. He hated acting like a mother hen more than Mark’s oldest friend, but he was worried about the peace keeper’s health. He didn’t need him getting into brawls, especially multiple car brawls! Why didn’t he just get a young kid out of the police academy so he wouldn’t stress his engine so often?  

“Don’t give me that, Doc. I’ve had enough out of those two roadsters,” said Sheriff, talking mostly to himself than Doc who was watching with a combination of horror and anger. That look was quickly lost though and replaced with one of surprise, because, before the blue car could even demand the officer to stay out of it, Doc noticed that the peace keeper was no longer next to him. Dust was all that was left in the Sheriff’s wake.

Doc sighed heavily and sank on his axels, sighing at the chaos.

Fillmore looked pathetic without his wheels. Sheriff was somewhere. Sarge was growling like an attack dog as he was circled by green forklifts. It was like wolves trying to take on a black bear.

Meanwhile, the green crew chief was being tugged around by Mater, being swung around like a wrecking ball on wheels. The green truck’s bumper or Mater’s tow cable finally had had enough of the abuse and the crew chief was sent screaming into the fray between Lightning and Chick. The resulting crunch that followed made every car present cringe. Both racers were hit nearly sending them into the watching crowd. Shaking their hoods in confusion and disorientation, both racecars were about to get back up and continue their fray nonetheless, when suddenly there was a flash of red lights.

“That’s enough out of you two hoodlums! Calm down before I have you thrown in the slammer.”

Chick blinked, a glare setting on his features when he saw that he was being glared down at by Radiator Springs’ Sheriff. His lip twitched and he found himself snapping at the aging officer. “This isn’t your territory, old car. This is between the brat and me! Now move before I … ugh!”

The green car suddenly jolted, his momentum halted in its track by a … boot?

“What the Chrysler? When the pit did you do that?” cried Chick, more confused than embarrassed as he wiggled his tire. He had only been disorientated for a second, not long enough to have a boot placed on and certainly not without his knowledge.

“Yeah, Sheriff,” said the whiny voice of Lightning McQueen as he lifted up his own booted tire and shook it as if it were an infected thing. “Why’d you put a boot on me? Where’d you even get two for that matter? You pull them out of the thin air?”

“None of your business, hot shot! You two calm down before we attract more attention than we _need_ ,” gripped the older car, ready to turn around and deal with Mater and that green truck, but his jaw nearly dropped as he turned to face half a dozen security SUVs who all had their lights flashing. None of them seemed too happy.

“W-why hello, fellows.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I think this is a cute little chapter. I could just see the brawl, especially the little forklifts trying to rip off tires to throw them at Sarge. The best part has to be Sarge trying to fend off the little monsters. Anyway, I like how this chapter wrapped up. For the next chapter … we get some time with Strip Weathers. Oh, I wonder how that is going to go over with Chick?
> 
> Also, I got the yeti joke from Maji and her fic Appointments on FFnet. Read it. It’s adorable.


	5. Bailouts

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you to my beta: Lightening&Doc.

“They can’t throw me in here! I’m the gall-done sheriff!” cried Sheriff as the security drove off, the imprisoned officer then throwing a glare at Chick and the rest of his crew which were located in the cell next to Lightning’s crew. For a moment, there was a dragging silence in the large indoor cells. The two crews glared at each other, both blaming the other team for this present predicament.

“This is all Chick’s fault,” Lightning finally said, his crew all partying to the side so that the green team could see the perpetrator of the silence.

“W-what!” said Chick as he rose up on his tires, glaring at the youth with his cracked windshield. He had put up quite a fight when security had started dragging them off to impound. He needed to find out what happened to that Danny rookie but most of all, he needed to be alone. He needed to think. What had that flashback been about, anyhow? Why was he remembering at all? He needed to clear his thoughts before he got to the end of the road for all those memories; where they all joined in the sick joke of his life.

“You heard me, Chick. You started that fight and now, because of you, we’re all stuck in here!”

“Don’t blame this on me!” growled the elder racer as he drew nearer to the bars. “You’re the one that started this, rookie.”

“Taunting is hardly a punch,” replied McQueen as he drove closer to the bars as well.

Chick sneered, his bumper rising in a harsh expression. “Don’t play dumb. You taunted me because you wanted to start a fight.  You wanted me to look bad so the fans _wouldn’t_ focus on your horrendously stupid rookie move during the race. You wanted this to happen! …Well, except for the jail thing.”

Lighting’s mouth remained open for a minute, astonishment evident. Then, moving his lips for a second as if confused, the younger racer replied, “What are you talking about? How hard were you hit exactly?”

“Don’t play dumb with me, rookie,” stated Chick, his rage rising to the surface again. “You knew I wanted to be alone. You knew I had to do something far more important than dealing with you. I wanted nothing from you and certainly not your lip. It’s your fault!”

Lightning pulled back, feeling the tension from their fight earlier. “Okay, okay. I think Chick is seriously tripping. I didn’t do a dang thing to him. Maybe we should call a medic. Have his roof checked? Hey, guard. Guard?!”

“Don’t patronize me. You’ve been wanting to set me up for failure since last year’s final race,” growled Chick, his engine fluid starting to boil. He knew he shouldn’t be trying to start another fight after just being thrown into the slammer, but he could feel _it_ crawling up the back of his hood: a memory. That was something he didn’t need right now. He couldn’t deal with it. For all he knew, it was the pinnacle memory of all his failures, all his sorrows, and all his demons. The last thing he needed was to break down into a crying fit in front of his rival’s crew and his own crew for that matter. They had enough to deal with from the race last year and his losing streak this year. They didn’t need any more weight in their tires … like the thought that they might soon be jobless because their driver was having a nervous breakdown.

Lightning, feeling an old part of him clawing to the surface like a cackling crow, started calling down the hall. “Hey, we need a doctor here. One that specializes in Paranoid Schizophrenia … and electroshock therapy!”

“I’m not crazy!” growled Chick, his engine revving.

“On second thought, someone call the old age home. I think Chick’s just suffering from old age,” mocked Lightning further, his grin growing as he watched his rival become more and more flustered. Oh, this was sweet, just too sweet. His birthday must have come early this year.

“Come on, we need a doctor in here. It looks like Chick is about to blow a gasket,” mocked Lightning, turning from the enraged racer towards the bars readying himself to start yelling, even more, insults down the halls. Suddenly, he stopped, eyes going wide for a moment when he realized someone was staring at him. Pushing the surprise down quickly and replacing his condescending smile with his usual cheeky grin, Lightning stated in a cool tone, “Oh, hey, Doc. Jeez, you’re fast. I just started calling for a medic a second ago for the nutcase in the cell over. Better watch out though … I think he bites.”

Doc stared at Lightning with almost a bored gazed and then threw his expressionless, half-lidded stare in the green racer’s direction. Chick immediately dropped his sneer and fell back a bit into the shadows of his cell, his crew falling around him like a barricade. The retired racer just continued to stare though, not even distracted by the heavy engines that followed after him into the hall. He just continued to watch at the green hellion as if looking for something beneath Chick’s metal. It was like he was seeing something everyone else couldn’t. Doc’s silent expression did not go unnoticed and was only broken when Marv decided to interrupt it, his voice squeaking as he cried out to one of the figures that entered behind Lightning’s crew chief.

“Ken! Took you long enough. We were wondering when you were going to get here,” stated the green pickup as he drew near the bars, the forklifts all following him forward and agreeing with spirited hoots. The whole crew unanimously ignored the looks from Doc.

Doc, noting that he was successfully being ignored, turned his attention back to his crew, an ill-humored expression on his face.

“Just couldn’t hold your tongue, could you? I shouldn’t pay your bail hot-rod and leave you in here to rust,” stated Doc, his teeth baring for a moment.

“Oh, come on Doc. It wasn’t that bad,” said Lightning in a nonchalant manner, his grin still there as he drew nearer to the bars. “Just a little extra press.”

“Wasn’t that bad? Extra press, you say? Chick, Lighting, you two were idiots out there,” stated Doc, his calm finally disappearing as he threw a deadly glare around, successfully killing any hope-filled expressions in the room. “You both could be kicked off the track for the rest of the season because of this.”

Doc then threw his full attention at his trainee, “I thought I taught you better than that. I’m disappointed in you Lightning,” the grin on the younger car’s face automatically dispersed like dandelion seeds to the wind, “and you,” said Doc as he pointed a tire at Chick, “are old enough to should know better than to act so foolish. I would punish you personally, but someone else wanted your time tonight.”

Chick, who had sunk back in his cell, hating the look the older car was giving him, merely perked up at the odd statement. He would have asked what the blue crew chief meant by that, but McQueen released seconds later and bumped forward by the older racer. Hudson was obviously not done with Lightning’s punishment and Chick didn’t want to get between that. He could just feel the red racer’s aching tires after the Fabulous Hudson Hornet was done with him.

Forgetting the blue car’s ominous words, Chick’s gaze fell on Ken who seemed awfully bulky in the hall. Despite himself, the boxcar smiled. “Well, it’s nice to know one of us is responsible enough not to get arrested in a brawl.”

Ken started to blush and merely nodded as he ground his front tire into the cement below in embarrassment. Here the other team at least had a few of their members not arrested, but it seemed that he was the only one level headed enough not to end up in the hoosegow. Yeah, that was just speaking volumes of the temper management in their team. Giving the Radiator Springs team a meek smile as Doc gave one last glance before exiting the room, Ken looked back at his team, some of the forklifts hanging lazily with their arms between the bars. Sweet Chrysler … his entire team looked and acted like they belonged there.

“You raise bail with the team’s _special funds_ ,” said Taz, one of the forklifts, as he offered a crazed grin to the hauler.  

“I doubt it,” grumbled Marv, his mood souring as he thought of Doc’s forwardness. How dare he?! Chick was his reasonability to counsel and discipline. It wasn’t the old racer’s job. “I know for a fact that account is nearly dry. Somebody is always in trouble and doesn’t have the mental capacity to either lie or ignore the law enforcement altogether.”

There were a collection of mumbled complaints from the others, but no one tried to rebuke or deny the comment just made. Instead, there was a dry chuckle. All the imprisoned team members turned to glare at either Ken (which seemed unlikely) or the security SUV next to the semi. The SUV’s eyes got wide and he quickly shook his hood stating that it wasn’t him. They all turned back to Ken and slowly they heard a car go into gear. None other than Strip Weather’s drove forward from behind the semi.

“Oh, to be young and foolish. I remember those days well,” said the King as he put on one of his soft smiles, looking directly at Chick who would have shied away if Marv hadn’t caught him with the edge of his truck bed: he had to face this lingering shame.

Ken, still blushing, stated meekly, “You were right Marv. There wasn’t much left in the bail-out account, b-but Mr. the King kindly offered as long… as long… as long…”

“As long as what?” demanded Taz, frankly bored with the whole situation already.

“Nothing much. Just that we all go out to a little place off Decker Street, throw back a can or two, forget the hardships of the day… and just talk,” stated Strip, his gaze falling on Chick as he finished the sentence. He put on a non-threatening smile when Chick met his gaze. He really hated to have to corner the other racer like this, but he knew he just couldn’t ask the green boxcar over for a quart. Chick still considered him a threat, of that Strip was sure. So the prospect of just asking him about his mental state in a comfortable yet personal manner seemed unlikely. He really didn’t want to make Hicks anymore uncomfortable than he obviously was, but a part of Weathers was disturbed by the prospect that maybe Chick’s _accident_ today was more than just a normal accident. The green racer needed to be confronted as soon as possible if that was the case and now was better than after some catastrophe.

 _Yep, he was totally trapped._ Chick automatically threw a look at Marv and shook his hood, basically stating that he’d rather rust first. Marv’s wide eyes quickly became a glare and before Strip or anyone else could add their opinions, the racer and the pickup were in the back of the cell having an argument in whispering tones.

“No, no, and no. I’m not taking anything from him,” stated Chick. “This is a ploy for revenge. He’ll probably drug my drink and steal my fuel pump or something. He’s out for oil, out for my oil!”

“Don’t get all paranoid. This is Strip Weathers, the boy scout of the track, not Hannibal Lasabre. Besides … we can always get you another fuel pump, but I don’t know about another job,” grumbled Marv, throwing a look over at the blue racer as none other than the owner of Dinoco rolled up next to him, eyeing the two whispering beings. “You and I both know we are on thin ice with our sponsors. Lance warned us the last time he had to bail us out: he won’t do it again. Just take the offer before someone gives that over-taxed Viper a call to come and get our bumpers before we start to rust.”

Chick was still shaking his front bumper in all out denial, his voice trying not to shake as he stated, “No. I can’t talk to Strip. I won’t.”

Marv was a bit surprised by Chick’s dread of the older racer. It was a sore spot, the subject of last year’s race. Marv knew for a fact that the boxcar despised more than admired the Piston Cup he received from that fitful race. It was hidden in a closet which beheld no light. In fact, Marv could even bet that the green racer had all but stopped opening that closet since the ornamental item had taken up residence in there. Not that he blamed Chick. The racer had struggled for years, his dream mere inches away, but he was always second best, a mockery. Chick Hicks finally grew tired of being denied so he took it by force. He raced not just for the paycheck, but for a deeper reason. What reason? Marv did not know, but he did know that his integrity had finally been tarnished. Chick had destroyed his own dream and Strip Weathers was a painful reminder of that.

Well, sometimes a little tough love was needed to close open wounds. If confronting the King would build a scab over whatever invisible wound his racer carried, Marv was willing to take it. True, he’d rather recommend a therapist but the last few met untimely ends due to Chick-paranoia.

Throwing a look at the forklifts around him, Marv’s voice became softer, “Then if you won’t do it for you and your job, do it for theirs. You know they all have families to feed and care for. Don’t be greedy now. I know you always try to look out for them in your own way. This is one of those instances where you have to prove you are their boss and bite the bullet.”

Chick was a bit taken aback by the cold bluntness of Marv’s words. It wasn’t the usual type of counsel he received from his crew chief. This … was the hard truth. If Lance fired him, the forklifts would lose their livelihoods as well. Chick knew he was a pushy car when it came to his passions and fears, but he wouldn’t betray his crew. After all they did for him? What would that make him?

Just as much of a failure as his father had labeled him.

Chick wanted to sulk and flat out fire Marv instead of facing Weathers… but that would be unwise, not to mention cruel. Sometimes it felt as if the team was his only family: the family he never had. He’d never do that to Marv.

Not knowing not what else to do, the green racer gave Marv a pained look. Marv merely raised a metallic brow in turn and then whispered, “It will be alright Chick. Just grin and bear it. After all, we are going to the bar and you will have free access to all the high-grade and gas-ohol you can get your tires on.”

Despite himself, Chick snorted, a small grin on his face before he whispered, “Fine, but you’re driving me home because I am planning on getting plastered.”

Marv frowned at this, thinking: wasn’t that what Ken was for?

Chick put on a fake grin and confronted the King and his Dinoco sponsor. “Sure, I’ll go Strip … as long as you don’t steal my fuel pump and sell my engine to the underground racing circuit.”

Marv nearly choked and Strip’s eyes grew impossibly wide. Then, just as quickly, a chuckle escaped the older racer, a grin forming. “Never knew you had a sense of humor, Chick.”

“I wasn’t joking,” said Chick under his breath as the door slid open, the forklifts hooting at the thought of a good time. Well, at least a few of them were going to have a good time. Chick was going to run them all into the dirt during the next practice for this.

…

The smell of high-grade fuel and oil filled the air, exhaust thick in the air. Chick didn’t mind even though he ached and was scraped up from earlier that day from the race and Lightning. Those pains were washed away with a little high-grade.

Too bad he couldn’t properly enjoy the feeling of the oil in him because he was still on guard, The King sitting across from him. Chick was quick to avert his eyes from the blue racer’s gaze. Strip’s eyes never seeming to drift away from him or his drink. Besides himself, the green racecar looked in Marv’s direction. The crew chief had ultimately settled for Tex as the two of them kept an eye on the rowdy forklifts. There’d be no rescue it seemed.

Chick looked down at his can, noting that he was almost finished with his second drink and he hadn’t even tried to initiate a conversation yet. His tires shifted slightly and he coughed, growing instinctively uncomfortable.

Not knowing what else to do, he started talking. He was going to keep this conversation away from the racing subject if it was the last thing he did. He didn’t think he could deal with an inquiry about his behavior during The King’s last race. “So… why this bar? We drove past two others. Is this place special to you somehow?”

“No. Not really. It just has karaoke.”

Then, as if on cue, both cars cringed as a screeching note from the song _Life is a Highway_ crashed through the room. Both racers turned to stare at the group of slightly drunken forklifts that were stumbling over every other word.

“They shouldn’t quit their day job,” said Strip Weathers, a small chuckle escaping him.

“Better not, especially with what they’re putting me through,” grumbled Chick to himself before he stumbled over his own thoughts and quickly changed the subject. “So… what have you been doing since you retired?”

Chick automatically regretted his words. Hadn’t that been what he had been trying to ignore? Dang karaoke!

Strip was silent for a moment as if thinking over the words and then he stated in an amber voice, “It’s nice not getting scratched up every other week and it’s pleasant to be home with my wife. You should really get yourself a good girl as well, Chick. It might calm you down and bring you some peace.”

“What do you mean by _calm down_?” added the green box-racer, his lip twitching as rage threatening to boil forward. He was calm! Okay, he had been calm before the inquiry of him being calm.

“I may be technically retired but I’m still the face of Dinoco. They really wanted Lightning as their new boy in blue but it seems that they may have to settle for someone else,” said The King, his gaze unwavering, “and as such I watch the races, professional and amateurs. In fact, it was kind of hard not to notice the trouble you got into with McQueen nor your racing habits of late.”

Chick swallowed. He knew where this was going and he wasn’t going to be sober for it. He turned to a passing barmaid and grumbled, “Give me the strongest and largest drink you got. I don’t want to come out of this place sober.”

Strip was frowning when Chick turned himself back towards the other car, the dim lights making his features seem harder than they actually were.

“You shouldn’t drink so much, Chick. You know alcohol is a depress...”

“Listen, Strip,” said the younger racer, having cut into the conversation. “I know where this conversation is going so let’s make this as painless as possible. Strip, I wanted that cup so badly. I didn’t want to be remembered as the runner-up. I am not sorry about winning. I needed it … for personal reasons … but I went at it all the wrong way. My pride wouldn’t let me lose and for that, I am apologizing. Be angry at me if you want, but know it won’t change anything. You’ll still be the hero and I’ll still be the runner up.”

Strip’s only reaction was a wide-eyed silence before a small frowned decided to own his face. He was surprised and under different circumstances, he would have been glad for the apology, but this wasn’t about what happened last season. This moment was about Chick Hicks and what he needed if he knew it or not.

Gaining a soft look of assurance, Strip decided that he had dragged this out long enough as well. He needed to talk about what was really important: Chick and the hard time he was going through because an apology like that would never come out of the cocky, mean-spirited racer he had known last year without some intense prying. Not that he was judging Chick for it. All great racers went through it sometimes be it drugs, woman, alcohol, money, underground racing, suicidal thoughts, or just plain depression.

“Chick, I’m glad for the apology but that is not what tonight is about. I’ve been on the racetrack a long time and seen many different types of racing and attitudes. It makes me keen for seeing changes in racers’ styles and tactics. Particularly, your tactics. I’ve never seen you race so … badly.”

The green racer’s eyes went wide and his breath threatened to hitch. Shit! Did he figure out that he was fixing the races and losing purposely? Ugh, if this got out he’d be ruined. Swallowing, Chick fumbled over his words, “Uh… ih… it’s been a bad year.”

There was a look of suspicion in the elder car’s eyes and Chick saw it. His engine nearly went cold as his drinking “buddy” sighed in that irritating way only Strip Weathers did. Slowly, the blue racer shook his front bumper just slightly. “It’s more than that, an old race car knows. Chick, are you okay?”

It was like a shot to the engine to hear that tone and see that pitying look on his once-nemesis' face. H-he hadn’t just said that, had he? The older car was never intentionally cruel to him but he never showed much consideration for Chick since his rookie year on the professional track. It stung. It hurt. His pride nearly drowned in a mixture of emotions that ranged from rage to regret.

It was something only his brother would have said. Something he had said:

_“Chick, are you okay?”_

_The green car, who had been staring at the dirt race track and its slowly settling dust clouds, nearly bulk and fell into a nearby pit in his rush to turn around and face the intruder on his sorrow. His brother, with a half-raised smile, was behind him, hood tilted in question and support._

_“W-why would anything be wrong?” said the green car as he blinked back tears, his young body threatening to betray his words._

_The black car frowned in disbelief, his eyes falling down on the still-shorter car with a disproving glint. “Don’t give me that. An older brother knows when something’s wrong. Now, tell me what’s wrong. It wasn’t like you got last. Third isn’t so bad for a rookie.”_

_Despite the warm nudges from his brother, a frown still gripped Chick’s bumper with heavy intent. He could only give a lowly begging glance with his eyes to state what he really meant._

_The older racer frowned, his struggle to get his brother away from the track and to pleasanter moments stalled. It wasn’t the track that was bothering his baby brother. Chase frowned softly at his brother’s distress, knowing far too well what was wrong. After all, he had basically raised his sibling._

_“Dad will come and see how great you are soon enough,” said the red accented car, his smile starting to falter._

_Chick was silent at first, his tears still threatening to spill before he stated, “That won’t work anymore, Chase. I know dad doesn’t care about me. I’m a failure. I can’t even win… and when I finally do, nobody will be there to see. Nobody important.”_

_The older car’s fake smile fell to the ground and was smothered in a cloud of dust. He titled his hood and stated in a tone only a loving family member could sustain and make you believe it, “Dad doesn’t have to be there … because I will be there to see you race and win. That’s your brother’s promise.”_

_Despite himself, Chick was taken aback, his eyes full of disbelief._

_“B-but… what about your races? You’ll be gone most of the time. There’s no way you can see all of my races,” said the young car, his voice cracking._

_Chase shook his hood, chuckling in that soft humored way only he could pull off. “I’ll make it to every single one if it kills me. I won’t miss your first win. Promise…”_

Chick was pulled from his memory abruptly by a whisper of his name. He didn’t know if he should be grateful for the return to reality or not. He missed his brother more than anyone could know. Chase was more a father to him than his real father and yet those words, that moment hung in time like a decoration on the wall, was one of the most painful moments of his life. Those words would haunt him forever.

Yet, the present world was just as cruel. The look on Strip Weathers’ face and the feel of tears threatening to escape the corners of his eyes was a sickening taste of reality. He swallowed and shoved those painful little memories back into the glass ball in which they were contained, the glass screeching as it threatened to crack. The tears were another thing. He couldn’t hide them and blinking them back would just make them fall faster. It was best to just allow them to be, hanging there.

“I’m sorry,” said the green car in a deep choking breath. “What did you say?”

Strip now looked worried, his old eyes wandering over Chick as if the younger car had just turned another color. He pulled back slightly as if he had just come to a realization. His worry quickly became sorrow and Chick found he disliked that look more than anything. Even when Strip lost races, he never looked sad. He obviously had seen Chick’s pull from reality and the tears that threatened to smear his hood.

“You’re not okay… Grey was right. You’re falling apart right in front of me,” said the blue car, his intent starting to crawl forward like a scorpion from its den.

Confusion enveloped the boxcar, his mustache rising as he twitched his lip. What was he talking about? That pathetic attempt at a brawl with Lightning? Yes, his rear axle was killing him and he probably wouldn’t be driving around much until he visited a doctor, but he wasn’t _falling apart_.

“What are you talking about?” said Chick, his sorrow being enveloped by the situation.

“About you,” said Strip, his patience folding under the situation yet his tone was still calm. “Chick, I know. You are depressed, aren’t you? Your distant behavior, your string of losses, and the loss of control with Lightning. He’s always got under your hood, but you’d use your wit to best him, not your tires.”

“W-what?” Chick nearly balked at those words, worry about a fixed race the least of his worries. He remembered Slick Hemmings, everyone did. He remembered how cautious the Racing Board had become afterward, and how cautious they were now. If a racer, especially someone with as much pull as The King, said that they thought Chick was depressed … Chick would be put through a psych evaluation and a battery of similar tests to see if he was capable of even being on the racetrack.

Before this last season, he might have been suspected of having a few anger issues but not depression. He was far too narcissistic at times to even be considered depressed, but now with the memories of his brother re-emerging and the forced losses on the track... he was breaking down, falling apart in more ways than one.

Was he really depressed? He had been feeling down … but…

“There is no disgrace in it,” interrupted Strip. “Cars grow tired. Everyone needs a break from time to time,” Strip held his tongue for a moment, his next words careful but full of demand. “You should take a break, Chick. In fact, after today’s race, a part of me must _demand_ it for your good and everyone else’s. Please don’t make me go to the Racing Board.”

There was a silence from the green car, his mouth unable to reply. It had been a hard blow and he would have never expected it from the blue, noble vehicle. It was perhaps overdue on the racetrack, but not here.

Perhaps knowing how hard he had struck out, The King gained a sad expression and offered a comforting nudge with his tire against Chick’s side. That had come out a little blunter than he had intended.  

“Please, take some time off. Cars get stressed out. There’s no shame in taking the rest of the season off,” said the King, remembering a season like that of his own. In the end, his crew chief and sponsors agreed that it was best for him to take a vacation instead of running himself into the ground. That season, he had met his best friend and wife.

The silence was burning that followed, but the King dared not interrupt it. Chick was stuck between a rock and a hard place. It was best to let him mull over his words instead of pressing him. Pressing this on the depressed racer might break him. Then, finally noticing that Tex had made eye contact with him, he nodded.

Tex turned to the green pickup immediately, Marv’s smile disappearing quickly as he threw a look in Chick and The King’s direction. Strip knew it was dumb to leave a broken car alone and expect them to make wise choices, so Tex had agreed to talk to Marv and give the crew chief a head’s up before they left. It felt like he was conspiring, but sometimes you had to play a little hardball to do what was right.

Sighing at the angry growl and curse that came from the strong-willed truck a few meters off, the Plymouth Superbird turned his attention back to Chick who seemed so pained that he was grinding his teeth, his bumper twitching.

He offered one more sympathetic smile, stating, “Don’t beat yourself up about it and if you need anyone to talk to, whenever, at any time, feel inclined to. I know we never got along very well, but I don’t do this as some form of revenge or hate. I do it because I do care about what happens to you and the other racers on the track. Good night, Chick.”

From the nearby shadows, Marv watched as The King left a shocked looking Chick to mull over his choices or lack of any. Slowly, glad for the noise of the bar so no one would overhear, the green crew chief came up beside his boss and nudged him. Showing physical expressions wasn’t something Marv did often, but it looked like the boxcar was about to have an emotional breakdown … especially if what Tex said was true.

Looking around, Marv waved a tire for the barmaid to bring another round for the two of them. Only once the cans had been placed stiffly in front of the two green gladiators of the track, did the crew chief decide to speak, “Chick, is what Tex said true? Are you alright?”

The runner-up’s eyes were wide as he almost begged for an answer, “You don’t think I’m depressed, too, do you? Cause I’m not … am I?”

There was a desperate note in that question. No, it was a plea. Part of Marv was slightly wounded to see such a usually strong and confident car speaking in such a tone. Generally, he’d laugh in Chick’s face for a statement like that, but that tone and that desperation pulled away from any denial of Tex’s words.

Lowering his truck bed, the crew chief did what he was hired to do and advise Chick. He told him the truth. It was a hard truth that hurt him just as much because he knew now why Chick had wanted to talk to the rookie’s driver today … he completely blamed himself for the accident, didn’t he?

His eyes becoming half-masted, Marv’s words were slow and dragged out, “If it’s ever too much Chick … just tell me the word. There’s no shame in saying you are tired. Are you tired?”


End file.
